Ten years later

284 THE ATHEN^UR

ammunition, cooking ute
and a sextant ; forming
loads. Dr. Livingstone
loads of his own stores,
culates that the Doctor ^
sufficient to last him foi
a few additional article:
especially a good watch ;
and fifty trustworthy m
Mr. Stanley undertook tc
bar, and he set out for 1
stone's journal and letters
He performed the march
through swamps, across
tramping through dense
days, and reached Baga
May. Thus was this gre;
service for the performanc
earned and has received
St 1 and ^it^o" from the Queen ai
the Royal and especially from the '.

Geographical . . ^ , „

Society, of the Royal Geographic^

* "The Council assemble!
period, and broke one of 1
Society in granting Mr. StanI
six months before the appoi
the recognition of geographi(
precedented ; and Mr. Stanle
received the medal, in defian
the autumn previous to the gei

Presented to the

LIBRARY of the

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by
MK.
PETER STANLEY

TEN YEARS LATER

15

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2009 with funding from

University of Toronto

http://www.archive.org/details/tenyearslaterOOduma

^

THE WORKS OF

ALEXANDRE DUMAS

IN TH I RTY VOLUMES

TEN YEARS LATER

ILLUSTRATED WITH DRAWINGS ON WOOD BY
EMINENT FRENCH AND AMERICAN ARTISTS

NEW YORK
P. F. COLLIER AND SON

M C M I I

TEN YEARS LATER.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH d'AKTAGNAN FINISHES BY AT LENGTH PLACING
HIS HANDS UPON HIS CAPTAIN'S COMMISSION.

The reader guesses beforehand whom the usher an-
nounced in announcing the messenger from Bretagne. This
messenger was easily recognized. It was D'Artagnan, his
clothes dusty, his face inflamed, his hair dripping with
sweat, his legs stiff; he lifted his feet painfully the height
of each step, upon which resounded the ring of his bloody
spurs. He perceived in the doorway he was passing
through the surintendant coming out. Fouquet bowed
with a smile to him who, an hour before, was bringing him
ruin and death. D'Artagnan found in his goodness of heart
and in his inexhaustible vigor of body, enough presence of
mind to remember the kind reception of this man; he bowed
then, also, much more from benevolence and compassion
than from respect. He felt upon his lips the word which
had so many times been repeated to the Due de Guise,
"Fly." But to pronounce that word would have been to
betray his cause; to speak that word in the cabinet of the
king, and before an usher, would have been to ruin himself
gratuitously, and could save nobody. D'Artagnan then
contented himself with bowing to Fouquet, and entered
At this moment the king floated between the joy the last
words of Fouquet had given him and his pleasure at the
return of D'Artagnan. Without being a courtier, D'Ar-
tagnan had a glance as sure and as rapid as if he had been
one. He read, on his entrance, devouring humiliation on
the countenance of Colbert. He even heard the king say
these words to him:

"Ah! Monsieur Colbert, you have then nine hundred
thousand livres at the intendance?"

Colbert, suffocated, bowed, but made no reply. All this

2 TEN TEARS LATER.

scene entered into the mind of D'Artagnan, by the eyes
and ears, at once. The first word of Louis to his mus-
keteer, as if he wished it to be in opposition to what he was
saying at the moment, was a kind "good-day." The second
was to send away Colbert. The latter left the king's cabi-
net, livid and tottering, while D'Artagnan twisted up the
ends of his mustache.

"I love to see one of my servants in this disorder," said
the king, admiring the martial stains upon the clothes of
his envoy.

"I thought, sire, my presence at the Louvre was suf-
ficiently urgent to excuse my presenting myself thus before
you."

"You bring me great news, then, monsieur?"

"Sire, the thing is this, in two words; Belle Isle is forti-
fied, admirably fortified. Belle Isle has a double enceuite, d,
citadel, two detached forts; its ports contain three corsairs,
and the side batteries only wait for their cannon."

"I know all that, monsieur," replied the king.

"What! your majesty knows all that?" replied the mus-
keteer, stupefied.

"I have the plan of the fortifications of Belle Isle," said
the king.

"Your majesty has the plan?"

"Here it is."

"It is really it, sire; and I saw a similar one on the spot."
The brow of D'Artagnan became clouded. "Ah! I un-
derstand all. Your majesty has n-ot trusted to me alone,
but has sent some other person," said he, in a reproachful
tone.

"Of what importance is the manner, monsieur, in which
I have learned what I know, so that I do know it?"

"Sire, sire," said the musketeer, without seeking even to
conceal his dissatisfaction; "but I must be permitted to say
to your majesty that it is not worth while to make me use
such speed, to risk twenty times the breaking of my neck,
to salute me on my arrival with such intelligence. Sire,
when people are not trusted, or are deemed insuflScient,
they should not be employed." And D'Artagnan, with a
movement perfectly military, stamped with his foot, and
left upon the floor dust stained with blood. The king
looked at him, inwardly enjoying his first triumph.

"Monsieur," said he, at the expiration of a minute, "not
only is Belle Isle known to me, but, still further. Belle Isle
is mine."

TEN YEARS LATER. 3

"That is well! that is well, sire; I ask no more," replied
D'Artagnan. "My discharge."

"What! your discharge?"

"Without doubt. I am too proud to eat the bread of the
king without gaining it, or rather, by gaining it badly.
My discharge, sire!"

"Oh! oh!"

"I ask for my discharge, or I shall take it."

"You are angry, monsieur?"

"I have reason, moi'diouz! I am thirty-two hours in the
saddle; I ride night and day; I perform prodigies of speed;
I arrive stiff as the corpse of a man who has been hung, and
another arrives before me! Come, sire, I am a fool! My
discharge, sire!"

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," said Louis, leaning his white
hand upon the dusty arm of the musketeer, "what I tell
you will not at all affect that which I promised you. A
word given, a word should be kept." And the king, going
straight to his table, opened a drawer, and took out a folded
paper.

"Here is your commission of captain of musketeers; you
have won it, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan opened the paper eagerly, and looked at it
twice. He could scarcely believe his eyes.

"And this commission is given you," continued the king,
"not only on account of your journey to Belle Isle, but,
moreover, for your brave intervention at the Place de
Greve. There, likewise, you served me valiantly."

"Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan, without his own command
being able to prevent a certain redness mounting to his
eyes; "you know that also, sire?"

"Yes, I know it."

The king possessed a piercing glance and an infallible
judgment, when it was his object to read a conscience.
"You have something to say," said he to the musketeer,
"something to say which you do not say. Come, speak
freely, monsieur; you know that I told you, once for all,
that you are to be quite frank with me."

"Well, sire, what I have to say is this, that I would prefer
being made captain of musketeers for having charged a
battery at the head of my company or taken a city, than for
causing two wretches to be hung."

"Is that quite true that you tell me?"

"And why should your majesty suspect me of dissimula-
tion, I ask?"

4 TEN YEARS LATEB.

"Because I know you well, monsieur; you cannot repent
of having drawn your sword for me."

"Well, in that your majesty is deceived, and greatly.
Yes, I do repent of having drawn my sword, on account of
the results that action produced; the poor men who were
hung, sire, were neither your enemies nor mine, and they
could not defend themselves."

The king preserved silence for a moment. "And your
companion, Monsieur d'Artagnan, does he partake of your
repentance?"

"My companion?"

"Yes. You were not alone, I have been told."

"Alone, where?"

"At the Place de Greve."

"No, sire, no," said D'Artagnan, blushing at the idea
that the king might have a suspicion that he, D'Artagnan,
had wished to engross to himself all the glory that belonged
to Raoul; "no, mordioux! and, as your majesty says, I had
a companion, and a good companion, too."

"A young man?"

"Yes, sire, a young man. Oh! your majesty must accept
my compliments; you are as well informed of things out-of-
doors as with things within. It is Monsieur Colbert who
makes all these fine reports to the king."

"Monsieur Colbert had said nothing but good of you.
Monsieur d'Artagnan, and he would have met with a bad
reception if he had come to tell me anything else."

"That is fortunate."

"But he also said much good of that young man."

"And with justice," said the musketeer.

"In short, it appears that this young man is a brave,"
said Louis, in order to sharpen the sentiment which he mis-
took for envy.

"A brave! Yes, sire," repeated D'Artagnan, delighted
on his part to direct the king's attention to Raoul.

"Do you not know his name?'^

"Well, I think "

"You know him then?"

"I have known him nearly twenty-five years, sire."

"Why, he is scarcely twenty-five years old!" cried the
king.

"Well, sire; I have known him ever since his birth, that
is all."

"Do you affirm that?"

"Sire," said D'Artagnan, "your majesty questions me

TEN" TEAES LATEK. 5

with a mistrust in which I recognize another character than
your own. Monsieur Colbert, who has so well informed
you, has he not forgotten to tell you that this young man is
the son of my most intimate friend?"

"The Vicomte de Bragelonne is?"

"Certainly, sire. The father of the Vicomte de Brage-
lonne is Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, who so powerfully
assisted in the restoration of King Charles II. Bragelonne
is of a valiant race, sire."

"Then he is the son of that nobleman who came to me,
or rather, to Monsieur Mazarin, on the part of King Charles
II., to offer me his alliance?"

"Exactly, sire."

"And the Comte de la Fere is a brave, say you?"

"Sire, he is a man who has drawn his sword R:ore times
for the king, your father, than there are, at present, days
in the happy life of your majesty."

It was Louis XIV. who now bit his lips in his turn.

"That is well. Monsieur d'Artagnan, very well! And
Monsieur le Comte de la Fere is your friend, say you?"

"For about forty years — yes, sire. Your majesty may see
that I do not speak to you of yesterday."

"Should you be glad to see this young man. Monsieur
d'Artagnan?"

"Delighted, sire."

The king touched his bell, and an usher appeared.

"Call Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the king.

"Ah! ah! he is here?" said D'Artagnan.

"He is on guard to-day at the Louvre, with the company
of the gentlemen of Monsieur le Prince."

The king had scarcely ceased speaking, when Eaoul pre-
sented himself, and, on seeing D'Artagnan, smiled on him
with that charming smile which is only found upon the lips
of youth.

"Come, come," said D^Artagnan familiarly, to Eaoul,
"the king "will allow you to embrace me; only tell his
majesty you thank him."

Eaoul bowed so gracefully that Louis, to whom all
superior qualities were pleasing when they did not affect
anything against his own, admired his beauty, strength,
and modesty.

"Monsieur," said the king, addressing Eaoul, "I have
asked Monsieur le Prince to be kind enough to give you up
to me. I have received his reply, and you belong to me
from this morning. Monsieur le Prince was a good master,
but I hope you will not lose by the change."

6 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Yes, yes, Kaoul, be satisfied; the king has some good in
him/' said D'Artagnan, who had fathomed the character of
Louis, and who played with his self-love, within certain
limits; always observing, be it understood, the proprieties,
and flattering, even when he appeared to be bantering,

"Sire," said Bragelonne, with a voice soft and musical,
and with the natural and easy elocution he inherited from
his father — "sire, it is not from to-day that I belong to your
majesty."

"Oh! no, I know," said the king; "you mean your enter-
prise of the Greve. That day you were truly mine, mon-
sieur."

"Sire, it is not of that day I would speak; it would not
become me to refer to so paltry a service in the presence of
such a man as Monsieur d'Artagnan. I would speak of a
circumstance which created an epoch in my life, and which
consecrated me, from the age of sixteen, to the devoted
service of your majesty."

"Ah! ah!" said the king, "what is that circumstance?
Tell me, monsieur."

"This is it, sire. When I was setting out on my first
campaign, that is to say, to join the army of Monsieur le
Prince, Monsieur le Comte de la Fere came to conduct me
as far as St. Denis, where the remains of King Louis XIII.
wait, upon the lowest steps of the funereal hasiUque, a suc-
cessor, whom God will not send him, I hope, for many
years. Then he made me swear upon the ashes of our mas-
ters, to serve royalty represented by you — incarnate in you,
sire — to serve it in word, in thought, and in action. I
swore, and God and the dead were witnesses to my oath.
During ten years, sire, I have not so often as I desired had
occasion to keep it. I am a soldier of your majesty, and
nothing else; and, on calling me nearer to you, I do not
change my master, I only change my garrison."

Eaoul was silent, and bowed. Louis still listened after
he had done speaking.

"Mordioux!" cried D'Artagnan, "that is well spoken! is
it not, your majesty? A good race! a noble race!"

"Yes," murmured the agitated king, without, however,
daring to manifest his emotion, for it had no other cause
than the contact with a nature eminently aristocratic.
"Yes, monsieur, you say truly; wherever you were, you
were the king's. But in changing your garrison, believe
me, you will find an advancement of which you are worthy."

Eaoul saw that there stopped what the king had to say to

TEN YEARS LATER. 7

him; and with that perfect tact which characterized his re-
fined nature, he bowed and retired.

"Is there anything else, monsieur, of which you have to
inform me?" said the king, when he found himself again
alone with D'Artagnan.

"Yes, sire; and I kept that news for the last, for it is
sad, and will clothe European royalty in mourning."

"What do you tell me?"

"Sire, in passing through Blois, a word, a sad word,
echoed from the palace, struck my ear."

"In truth, you terrify me, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"Sire, this word was pronounced to me by a piqueur who
wore a crape on his arm.

"My uncle, Gaston of Orleans, perhaps?"

"Sire, he has rendered his last sigh."

"And I was not warned of it!" cried the king, whose
royal susceptibility saw an insult in the absence of this in-
telligence.

"Oh, do not be angry, sire," said D'Artagnan; "neither
the couriers of Paris nor the couriers of the whole world
can travel with your servant; the courier from Blois will not
be here these two hours, and he rides well, I assure you,
seeing that I only passed him on the other side of Orleans."

"My uncle Gaston," murmured Louis, pressing his hand
to his brow, and comprising in those three words all that
his memory recalled of that name of opposite sentiments.

"Eh! yes, sire, it is thus," said D'Artagnan, philosophic-
ally replying to the royal thought — "it is thus the past flies
away,"

"That is true, monsieur, that is true; but there remains
for us, thank God, the future; and we will try to make it
not too dark."

"I feel confidence in your majesty on that head," said
D'Artagnan, bowing; "and now "

"You are right, monsieur; I had forgotten the hundred
leagues you have just ridden. Go, monsieur; take care of
one of the best of soldiers, and when you have reposed a
little, come and place yourself at my orders,"

"Sire, absent or present, I always am so."

D'Artagnan bowed and retired. Then, as if he had only
come from Fontainebleau, he quickly traversed the Louvre
to rejoin Bragelouue.

8 * TEN YEARS LATER.

CHAPTER II. f

A LOVER AND A MISTRESS.

"While the wax-lights were burning in the castle of Blois,
around the inanimate body of Gaston of Orleans, that last
representative of the past; while the bourgeois of the city
were making his epitaph, which was far from being a
panegyric; while madame the dowager, no longer remem-
bei'ing that in her young days she had loved that senseless
corpse to such a degree as to fly the paternal palace for his
sake, was making, v/ithiu twenty paces of the funeral apart-
ment, her little calculations of interest and her little sacri-
fices of pride, other interests and other prides were in agita-
tion m all the parts of the castle into which a living soul
could penetrate. Neither the lugubrious sounds of the
beils, nor the voices of the chanters, nor the splendor of the
wax-lights through the windows, nor the preparations for
the funeral, had the power to divert the attention of two
persons, placed at a window of the interior court — a window
that we are acquainted with, and which lightened a cham-
ber forming part of what were called the little apartments.
For the rest, a joyous beam of the sun, for the sun appeared
to care very little for the loss France had just suffered — a
sunbeam, we say, descended upon them, drawing perfumes
from the neighboring flowers, and animating the walls
themselves. These two persons, so occupied, not by the
death of the duke, but by the conversation which was the
consequence of that death, these two persons were a young
woman and a young man. The latter personage, a man of
from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with a mien
sometimes lively and sometimes dull, making good use of
two immensely large eyes shaded with long eyelashes, was
short of stature and brown of skin; he smiled with an enor-
mous but well-furnished mouth, and his pointed chin, which
appeared to enjoy a mobility which nature does not ordi-
narily grant to that portion of the countenance, leaned from
time to time very lovingly toward his interlocutrix, who, we
must say, did not always draw back so rapidly as strict pro-
priety had a right to require. The young girl — we know
her, for we have already seen her at that very same window
by the light of that same sun — the young girl presented a
singular mixture of slyness and reflection; she was charming
when she laughed, beautiful when she became serious; but.

TEN YEARS LATER. 9

let US hasten to say, she was more frequently charming than
beautiful. The two persons appeared to have attained the cul-
minating point of a discussion, half-bantering, half-serious.

"Now, Monsieur Malicorne," said the young girl, "does
it, at length, please you that we should talk reasonably?"

"You believe that that is very easy. Mademoiselle Aure,'*
replied the young man.

"To do what we like, when we can only do what we are
able "

"Good!" said the young man; "there she is bewildered
in her phrases."

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you; leave that lawyers' logic, my dear."

"Another impossibility."

"Clerk, I am Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Demoiselle, I am Monsieur Malicorne."

"Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by dis-
tance; so I will say no more to you."

"Well, but, no, I don't overwhelm you; say what you
have to tell me — say it, I insist upon it."

"Well, I obey you."

"That is truly fortunate."

"Monsieur is dead."

"Ah, peste! there's news! And where do you come from,
to be able to tell us that?"

"I come from Orleans, mademoiselle."

"And is that all the news you bring?"

"Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta
of England is coming to marry his majesty's brother."

"Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news
of the last century. Now, mind, if you persist in this bad
habit of laughing at people, I will have you turned out."

"Oh!"

"Yes; for really you exasperate me."

"There, there! Patience, mademoiselle."

"You want to make yourself of consequence; I know well
enough why. Go!"

"Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing
be true."

"You know that I am anxious to have that commission of
lady of honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask of
you, and you do not use your credit."

"Who, I?" Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his
hands, and assumed his sullen air. "And what credit can
the poor clerk of a procureur have, pray?"

10 TEN TEARS LATER.

"Your father has not twenty tliousand livres a year for
nothing, Monsienr Malicorne."

"A provincial fortune. Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Your father is not in the secrets of Monsieur le Prince
for nothing."

"An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur
money."

"In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow
in the province for nothing."

"You flatter me!"

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you."

"How so?"

"Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you main-
tain I have."

"Well, then, my commission?"

"Well, your commission?"

"Shall I have it, or shall I not?"

"You shall have it."

"Ay, but when?"

"When you like."

"Where is it, then?"

"In my pocket."

"How! in your pocket?"

"Yes." And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his
pocket a letter, upon which Montalais seized as a prey, and
which she read with avidity. As she read, her face bright-
ened.

"Malicorne," cried she, after having read it, "in truth,
y^ou are a good lad."

"What for, mademoiselle?"

"Because you might have been paid for this commission,
and you have not." And she burst into a loud laugh,
thinking to put the clerk out of countenance; but Mali-
corne sustained the attack bravely.

"I do not understand you," said he. It was now Monta-
lais who was disconcerted in her turn. "I have declared my
sentiments to you," continued Malicorne. "You have told
me three times, laughing all the while, that you did not
love me; you have embraced me once without laughing,
and that is all I want."

"All?" said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a
tone through which wounded pride was visible.

"Absolutely all, mademoiselle," replied Malicorne.

"Ah!"

TEN TEAES LATER. 11

And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the
young man might have expected gratitude. He shook his
head quietly.

"Listen, Montalais," said he, without heeding whether
that familiarity pleased his mistress or not; "let us not dis-
pute about it."

"And why not?"

"Because, during the year which I have known you, you
might have had me turned out-of-doors twenty times if I
did not please you."

"Indeed; and on what account should I have had you
turned out?"

"Because I had been sufficiently impertinent for that."

"Oh, that! — yes, that's true."

"You see plainly that you are forced to avow it," said
Malicorne.

"Monsieur Malicorne!"

"Don't let us be angry; if you have retained me, then it
has not been without cause."

"It is not, at least, because I love you," cried Montalais.

"Granted. I will even say that, at this moment, I am
certain that you execrate me."

"Oh, you have never spoken so truly."

"Well, on my part, I detest you."

"Ah, I take the act."

"Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part, I
fiind you with a harsh voice and your face distorted with
anger. At this moment you would allow yourself to be
thrown out of that window rather than allow me to kiss the
tip of your finger; I would precipitate myself from the top
of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your robe.
But in five minutes you will love me, and I shall adore you.
Oh, it is just so."

"I doubt it."

"And I swear it."

"Coxcomb!"

"And then, that is not the true reason. You stand in
need of me, sure, and I of you. When it pleases you to be
gay, I make you laugh; when it suits me to be loving, I
look at you. I have given you a commission of lady of
honor which you wished for; you will give me, presently,
something I wish for."

"I will?"

"Yes, you will; but at this moment, my dear Aure, I de-
clare to you that I wish for absolutely nothing; so be at
ease."

12 TEN YEARS LATER.

''You are a frightful man, Malicorne. I was going to re-
joice at getting this commission, and thus you take away all
my joy."

"Good! there is no time lost; you will rejoice when I am
gone."

"Go, then; and after "

"So be it; but, in the first place, a piece of advice."

"What is it?"

"Eesume your good humor, you are ugly when you pout."

"Coarse I"

"Come, let us tell our truths to each other, while we are
about it."

"Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man!"

"Oh, Montalais! Ungrateful girl!"

The young man leaned with his elbow upon the window-
frame; Montalais took a book and opened it. Malicorne
stood up, brushed his hat with his sleeve, smoothed down
his black pourpoint; Montalais, though pretending to read,
looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Good!" cried she, quite furious; "he has assumed his
respectful air — and he will pout for a week."

"A fortnight, mademoiselle," said Malicorne, bowing.

Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. "Monster!'*
said she; "oh, that I were a man!"

"What would you do to me?"

"I would strangle you."

"Ah! very well, then," said Malicorne; "I believe I begin
to desire something."

"And what do you desire. Monsieur Demon? That I
should lose my soul from anger?"

Malicorne was rolling his hat respectfully between his fin-
gers; but all at once he let fall his hat, seized the young
girl by the two shoulders, pulled her toward him, and ap-
plied to her lips two other very warm lips for a man pre
tending to so much indifference. Aure would have cried
out, but the cry was stifled in the kiss. Nervous and ap-
parently angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the
wall.

"Good!" said Malicorne philosophically, "that's enough
for six weeks. Adieu, mademoiselle; accept my very hum-
ble salutation." And he made three steps toward the door.

"Well! no, you shall not go!" cried Montalais, stamping
with her little foot. "Stay where you are! I order you!"

"You order me?"

"Yes; am I not mistress?"

TEN YEARS LATER. 13

"Of my heart and soul, without doubt."

"A pretty property! ma foi! The soul is silly and the
heart dry."

"Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you
are going to fall in love with your humble servant."

"XVell, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with
childish indolence rather than with loving abandonment.
"Well, yes! for I must thank you at least."

"And for what?"

"For the commission; is it not my whole future?"

"And all mine."

Montalais looked at him.

"It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guess
whether you are speaking seriously or not."

"I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris —
you were going there — we are going there."

"And so it was for that motive only you have served me;
selfish fellow!"

"What would you have me say, Aure? I cannot live
without you."

"Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are, neverthe-
less, it must be confessed, a very bad-hearted young man."

"Aure, my dear Aure, take care! If you take to calling
names again, you know the effect they produce upon me,
and I shall adore you." And so saying, Malicorne drew the
young girl a second time toward him. But at that instant
a step resounded on the staircase. The young people were
so close that they would have been surprised in the arms of
each other, if Montalais had not violently pushed Malicorne,
with his back against the door, just then opening. A loud
cry, followed by angry reproaches, immediately resounded.
It was Mme. de St. Kemy who uttered the cry and proffered
the angry words. The unlucky Malicorne almost crushed
her between the wall and the door she was coming in at.

"It is again that good-for-nothing!" cried the old lady.
"Always here!"

"Ah, madame!" replied Malicorne, in a respectful tone,
"it is eight long days since I was here."

14 TElSr YEARS LATER.

CHAPTEE III.

Ilf "WHICH WE AT LENGTH SEE' THE TRUE HEROIJSTE OF
THIS HISTORY APPEAR.

Behind Mme. de St. Kemy came up Mile, de la Valliere.
She heard the explosion of maternal anger, and as she di-
vined the cause of it, she entered the chamber trembling,
and perceived the unlucky Malicorne, whose woeful counte-
nance might have softened or set laughing whoever might
have observed it coolly. He had promptly intrenched him-
self behind a large chair, as if to avoid the first attacks of
Mme. de St. Eemy; he had no hopes of prevailing with
words, for she spoke louder than he, and without stopping;
but he reckoned upon the eloquence of his gestures. The
old lady would neither listen to nor see anything. Mali-
corne had long been one of her antipathies; but her anger
was too great not to overflow from Malicorne on to his ac-
complice. Montalais had her turn.

"And you, mademoiselle; and you, may you not be cer-
tain I shall inform madame of what is going on in the
apartment of one of her ladies of honor?"

"Oh, dear mother!" cried Mile, de la Valliere, "for
mercy's sake, spare "

"Hold your tongue, mademoiselle, and do not uselessly
trouble yourself to intercede for unworthy subjects. That
a young maid of honor like you should be subjected to a
bad example is, certes, a misfortune great enough; but that
you should sanction it by your indulgence is what I will not
allow."

"But in truth," said Montalais, rebelling again, "I do
not know under what pretense you treat me thus. I am
doing no harm, I suppose?"

"And that great good-for-nothing, mademoiselle," re-
sumed Mme. de St. Eemy, pointing to Malicorne, "is he
here to do any good, I ask you?"

"He is neither here for "good nor harm, madame; he
comes to see me, that is all."

"It is all very well! all very well!" said the old lady.
"Her royal highness shall be informed of it, and she will
judge."

"At all events, I do not see why," replied Montalais, '"'it
should be forbidden that Monsieur Malicorne should have
intentions toward me, if his intentions are honorable."

TEN YEARS LATER. 15

"Honorable intentions with such a face!" cried Mme. de
St. Remy.

"I thank you in the name of my face, madame," said
Malicorne.

"Come, my daughter, come," continued Mme. de St.
Eemy; "we will go and inform madame that at the very
moment she is weeping for her husband, at the moment
when we are all weeping for a master in this old castle of
Blois, the abode of grief, there are people who amuse them-
selves with rejoicing."

"Oh!" cried both the accused with one voice.

"A maid of honor! a maid of honor!" cried the old lady,
lifting her hands toward heaven.

"Well, it is that in which you are mistaken, madame,"
said Montalais, highly exasperated; "I am no longer a maid
of honor, of madame's, at least."

"Have you given in your resignation, mademoiselle?
That is well; I cannot but applaud such a determination,
and I do applaud it."

"I did not give in my resignation, madame; I have taken
another service, that is all."

"In the bourgeoisie or in the robe?" asked Mme. de St.
Eemy disdainfully.

"Please to learn, madame, that I am not a girl to serve
either bourgeoises or rohines; and that instead of the miser-
able court at which you vegetate, I am going to reside in a
court almost royal."

"Ah! ah! a royal court," said Mme. de St. Remy, forc-
ing a laugh; "a royal court! What think you of that, my
daughter?"

And she turned round toward Mile, de la Valliere, whom
she would by main force have dragged away from Montalais,
and who, instead of obeying the impulse of Mme. de St.
Eomy, looked first at her mother and then at Montalais
with her beautiful, conciliatory eyes.

"I did not say a royal court, madame," replied Monta-
lais; "because Madame Henrietta of England, who is about
to become the wife of S. A. R. Monsieur, is not a queen. I
said, almost royal, and I spoke correctly, since she will be
sister-in-law to the king."

A thunderbolt falling upon the castle of Blois would not
have astonished Mme. de St. Remy as did the last sentence
of Montalais.

"What do you say of Son Altesse Eoyale Madame Henri-
etta?" stammered out the old lady.

16 TEN YEARS LATER.

"I say I am going to belong to her household, as maid of
honor; that is what I say."

"As maid of honor!" cried, at the same time, Mme. de
St. Kemy, with despair, and Mile, de la Valliere with de-
light.

"Yes, madame, as maid of honor."

The old lady's head sank down as if the blow had been
too severe for her. But, almost immediately recovering
herself, she launched a last projectile at her adversary.

"Oh! oh!" said she; "I have heard of many of these sorts of
promises beforehand, which often lead people to flatter them-
selves with wild hopes, and, at the last moment, when the
time comes to keep the promises, and have the hopes real-
ized, they are surprised to see the great credit upon which
they reckoned reduced to smoke."

"Oh, madame, the credit of my protector is incontestable,
and his promises are as good as acts."

"And would it be indiscreet to ask you the name of this
powerful protector?"

"Uh! mon Dieu! no! It is that gentleman there," said
Montalais, pointing to Malicorne, who, during this scene,
had preserved the most imperturbable coolness and the
most comic dignity.

"Monsieur!" cried Mme. de St. Remy, with an explosion
of hilarity, "monsieur is your protector! Is the man whose
credit is so powerful, and whose promises are as good as
acts. Monsieur Malicorne!" Malicorne bowed. As to Mon-
talais, as her sole reply, she drew the brevet from her pocket,
and showed it to the old lady.

"Here is the brevet," said she.

At once all was over. As soon as she had cast a rapid
glance over this fortunate brevet, the good lady clasped her
hands, an unspeakable expression of envy and despair con-
tracted her countenance, and she was obliged to sit down to
avoid fainting. Montalais was not malicious enough to re-
joice extravagantly at her victory, or to overwhelm the con-
quered enemy, particularly when that enemy was the mother
of her friend; she used, then, but did not abuse, her tri-
umph. Malicorne was less generous; he assumed noble
poses in his fauteuil, and stretched himself out with a fa-
miliarity which, two hours earlier, would have drawn upon
him threats of a caning.

"Maid of honor to the young madame!" repeated Mme.
de St. Eemy, still but half-convinced.

TEISr YEARS LATER. 17

"Yes, madame, and through the protection of Monsieur
Malicorne, moreover."

"It is incredible!" repeated the old lady; "is it not in-
credible, Louise?" But Louise did not reply; she was
leaning, thoughtful, almost afflicted; passing one hand over
her beautiful brow, she sighed heavily.

"Well, but, monsieur," said Mme. de St. Remy, all at
once, "how did you manage to obtain this post?"

"I asked for it, madame."

"Of whom?"

"One of my friends."

"And have you friends sufficiently powerful at court to
give you such proofs of their credit?"

'''Dame! it appears so."

"And may one ask the name of these friends?"

"I did not say I had many friends, madame, I said I had
one friend."

"And that friend is called?"

^'Peste! madame, you go too far! When one has a friend
as powerful as mine, we do not publish his name in that
fashion, in open day, in order that he may be stolen from
us."

"You are right, monsieur, to be silent as to that name;
for I think it would be pretty difficult for you to tell it."

"At all events," said Montalais, "if the friend does not
exist, the brevet does exist, and that cuts short the ques-
tion."

"Then, I conceive," said Mme. de St. Eemy, with the
gracious smile of a cat who is going to scratch, "when I
found monsieur here just now "

"Well?"

"He brought you the brevet."

"Exactly, madame; you have guessed rightly."

"Well, then, nothing can be more moral or proper."

"I think so, madame."

"And I have been wrong, as it appears, in reproaching
you, mademoiselle."

"Very wrong, madame; but I am so accustomed to your
reproaches that I pardon you these."

"In that case, let us be gone, Louise; we have nothing to
do but to retire. Well!"

"Madame," said La Valliere, "did you speak?"

"You do not appear to listen, my child. ^'

"No, madame, I was thinking."

"About what?'-

18 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"A thousand things."

"You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise?" cried Monta-
lais, pressing her hand.

"And why should I, my dear Aure?'' replied the girl, in
a voice soft as a flute.

'^DameV^ resumed Mme. de St. Remy; "if she did bear
you a little ill-will, poor girl, she could not be much
blamed."

"And why should she bear me ill-will, good God?"

"It appears to me that she is of as good a family^ and as
pretty as you."

"Mother! mother!" cried Louise.

"Prettier a hundred times, madame — not of a better fam-
ily; but that does not tell me why Louise should bear me
ill-will."

"Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be bur-
ied alive at Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris?"

"But, madame, it is not I who prevents Louise following
me thither; on the contrary, I should certainly be most
hajDpy if she came there."

"But it appears that Monsieur Malicorne, who is all-
powerful at court "

"Ah! so much the worse, madame," said Malicorne;
"every one for himself in this poor world."

"Malicorne! Malicorne!" said Montalais. Then stooping
toward the young man:

"Occupy Madame de St. Remy, either in disputing with
her, or making it up with her; I must speak to Louise.'*
And, at the same time, a soft pressure of the hand recom-
pensed Malicorne for his future obedience. Malicorne went
grumbling toward Mme. de St. Remy, while Montalais said
to her friend, throwing one arm around her neck:

"What is the matter? Say! Is it true that you would
not love me if I were to shine, as your mother says?"

"Oh, no!" said the young girl, with difficulty restraining
her tears; "on the contrary, I rejoice at your good fortune.

"Rejoice! why, one would say you are ready to cry!"

"Do people never weep but from envy?"

"Oh! yes, I understand; I am going to Paris; and that
word Paris recalls to your mind a certain cavalier "

"Aure!"

"A certain cavalier who formerly lived near Blois, and
who now resides at Paris."

"In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled."

"Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!"

TEX YEARS LATER. 19

Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling
down one after the other, illumined like diamonds.

"Come, confess," said Montalais.

"What shall I confess?"

"What makes you Aveep; people don't weep without a
cause. I am your friend; whatever you would wish me to
do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful than you think.
Do you wish to go to Paris?"

"Alas!" sighed Louise.

"Do you wish to come to Paris?"

"To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have en-
joyed the delightful habit of listening to your songs, of
pressing your hand, of running about the park with you.
Oh! how I shall be ennuyee! how quickly I shall die!"

"Do you wish to come to Paris?"

Louise breathed another sigh.

"You do not answer me."

"What would you that I should answer you?"

"Yes or no; that is not very difficult, I think."

"Oh! you are very fortunate, Montalais!"

"That is to say you would like to be in my place."

Louise was silent.

"Little obstinate thing!" said Montalais; "did ever any
one keep her secrets from her friend thus? But confess
that you would like to come to Paris; confess that you are
dying with the wish to see Kaoul again?"

"I cannot confess that."

"Then you are wrong."

"In what way?"

"Because — Do you see this brevet?"

"To be sure I do."

"Well, I would have made you have a similar one."

"By whose means?"

"Malicorne's."

"Aure, do you tell the truth? Is that possible?"

'"''Darnel Malicorne is there; and what he has done for me
he must be sure to do for you."

Malicorne had heard his name pronounced twice; he was
delighted at having an opportunity of coming to a conclu-
sion with Mme. de St. Eemy, and he turned round:

"What is the question, mademoiselle?"

"Come hither, Malicorne," said Montalais, with an impe-
rious gesture.

Malicorne obeyed.

"A brevet like thisi" said Montalais.

20 lEN" YEARS LATER.

"How SO?'*

"A brevet like this; that is plain enough."

''But "

"I want one — I must have one!"

"Oh! oh! you must have one?"

"Yes."

"It, is impossible, is it not, Monsieur Malicorne?" said
Louise, with ber sweet soft voice.

^'Dame! if it is for you, mademoiselle "

"For me. Yes, Monsieur Malicorne, it would be for me."

"And if Mademoiselle de Montalais asks it at the same
time "

"Mademoiselle de Montalais does not ask it, she requires
it."

"Well, we will endeavor to obey you, mademoiselle."

"And you will have her named?"

"We will try."

"No evasive reply. Louise de la Yalliere shall be maid
of honor to Madame Henrietta within a week."

"How you talk!"

"Within a week, or else "

"Well, or else?"

"You may take back your brevet. Monsieur Malicorne; I
will not leave my friend."

"Dear Montalais!"

"That is right. Keep your brevet; Mademoiselle de la
Valliere shall be a maid of honor."

"Is that true?"

"Quite true."

"I may then hope to go to Paris?"

"Depend upon it."

"Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what gratitude!" cried Louise,
clapping her hands, and bounding with joy.

"Little dissembler!" said Montalais, "try again to make
me believe you are not in love with Raoul."

Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of reply-
ing, she ran and embraced her mother. "Madame," said
she, "do you know that Monsieur Malicorne is going to
have me appointed maid of honor?"

"Monsieur Malicorne is a prince in disguise," replied the
old lady; "he is all-powerful, seemingly."

"Should you also like to be maid of honor?" asked Mali-
corne of Mme. de St. Remy. "While I am about it, I
might as well get everybody appointed."

And upon that he went away, leaving the poor lady quite
disconcerted, as Tallemont des Eeaux would say.

TEN YEARS LATER. 21

"Humph!" murmured Malicorue, as he descended the
stairs. "Humph! there is another note of a thousand li-
vres that will cost me; but I must get through as well as I
can; my friend Manicamp does nothing for nothing."

CHAPTEK IV.

MALICORNE AND MANICAMP.

The introduction of these two new personages into this
history^ and that mysterious affinity of names and senti-
ments, merit some attention on the part of the historian
and the reader. We will then enter into some details con-
cerning M. Malicorne and M. Manicamp. Malicorne, we
know, had made the journey to Orleans in search of the
brevet destined for Mile, de Montalais, the arrival of which
had produced such a strong feeling at the castle of Blois.
At that moment M. de Manicamp was at Orleans. A sin-
gular personage was this M. de Manicamp; a very intelli-
gent young fellow, always jjoor, always needy, although he
dipped his hand freely into the purse of M. le Comte de
Guiche, one of the best-furnished purses of the period. M.
le Comte de Guiche had had, as the companion of his boy-
hood, this De Manicamp, a poor gentleman, vassal-born, of
the house of Grammont. M. de Manicamp, with his acute-
ness, had created himself a revenue in the opulent family
of the celebrated marechal. From his infancy he had, by a
calculation much above his age, lent his name and his com-
plaisance to the follies of tlie Comte de Guiche. If his
noble companion had stolen some fruit destined for Mme.
la Marechale, if he had broken a mirror, or put out a dog's
eye, Manicamp declared himself guilty of the crime com-
mitted, and received the punishment, which was not made
the more mild for falling upon the innocent. But this was
the way in which this system of abnegation was paid for;
instead of wearing such mean habiliments as his paternal
fortunes entitled him to, he was able to appear brilliant,
superb, like a young noble of fifty thousand livres a year.
It was not that he was mean in character or humble in spirit;
no, he was a philosopher, or rather, he had the indiffer-
ence, the apathy, the extravagance which banish from man
every feeling of the hierarchical world. His sole ambition
was to spend money. But in this respect the worthy M. de
Manicamp was a gulf. Three or four times every 'year he

22 TEN YEARS LATER.

drained the Comte de Guiche, and when the Comte de
Guiche was thoroughly drained, when he had turned out his
pockets and his purse before him, when he declared that it
would be at least a fortnight before paternal munificence
would refill those pockets and that purse, De Manicamp lost
all his energy; he went to bed, remained there, ate nothing,
and sold his handsome clothes, under the pretense that, r&
maining in bed, he did not want them. During this pros-
tration of mind and strength, the purse of the Comte de
Guiche was getting full again, and when once filled, over-
flov/ed into that of De Manicamp, who bought new clothes,
dressed himself again, and recommenced the same life he
had followed before. This mania of selling his new clothes
for a quarter of what they were worth had rendered our
hero sufficiently celebrated in Orleans, a city where, in gen-
eral, we should be puzzled to say why he came to pass his
days of penitence. Provincial clehavches, 2ietUs maitres of
six hundred livres a year, shared the fragments of his
opulence.

Among the admirers of these splendid toilets, our friend
Malicorne was conspicuous; he was the son of a syndic of the
city, of whom M. de Conde, always needy as a De Conde,
often borrowed money at enormous interest. M. Malicorne
kept the paternal money-chest; that is to say, that in those
times of easy morals, he had made for himself, by following
the example of his father, and lending at high interest for
short terms, a revenue of eighteen hundred livres, without
reckoning six hundred other livres furnished by the generos-
ity of the syndic, so that Malicorne was the king of the gay
youth of Orleans, having two thousand four hundred livres
to scatter, squander, and waste on follies of every kind.
But, quite contrary to Manicamp, Malicorne was terribly
ambitious. He loved from ambition; he spent money from
ambition; and he would have ruined himself from ambition.
Malicorne had determined to rise, at whatever price it
might cost, and for this, at whatever price it did cost, he
had given himself a mistress and a friend. The mistress.
Mile, de Montalais, was cruel, as regarded the last favors of
love; but she was of a noble family, and that was sufficient
for Malicorne. The friend had no friendship, but he was
the favorite of the Comte de Guiche, himself the friend of
Monsieur, the king's brother, and that was sufficient for
Malicorne. Only, in the chapter of charges, Mile, de Mon-
talais co?,i per an.: Ribbons, gloves, and sweets, a thousand
livres. De Manicamp cost — money lent, never returned —

TEN YEARS LATER. 23

from twelve to fifteen hundred livres i^er an. So that there
was nothing left for Malicorne. Ah! yes, we are mistaken;
there was left the paternal strong-box. He employed a
mode of proceeding upon which he preserved the most pro-
found secrecy, and which consisted in advancing to himself,
from the coffers of the syndic, half a dozen years, that is to
say, fifteen thousand livres, swearing to himself — observe,
quite to himself — to repay this deficiency as soon as an
opportunity should present itself. The opportunity was
expected to be the concession of a good post in the house-
hold of Monsieur, when that household would be established
at the period of his marriage. This period was arrived, and
the household was about to be established. A good post in
the family of a prince of the blood, when it is given by the
credit and on the recommendation of a friend like the
Comte de Guiche, is worth at least twelve thousand livres
per an. ; and by the means which M. Malicorne had taken
to make his revenues fructify, twelve thousand livres might
rise to twenty thousand. Then, when once an incumbent
of this post, he would marry Mile, de Montalais. Mile, de
Montalais, of a family which the woman's side ennobles,
not only would be dowered, but would ennoble Malicorne.
But, in order that Mile, de Montalais, who had not a large
patrimonial fortune, although an only daughter, should be
suitably dowered, it was necessary that she should belong to
some great princess as prodigal as the dowager madame was
covetous. And in order that the wife should not be on one
side while the husband was on the other, a situation which
presents serious inconveniences, particularly with characters
like those of the future consorts — Malicorne had imagined
the idea of making the central point of union the household
of Monsieur, the king's brother. Mile, de Montalais would
be maid of honor to madame; M. Malicorne would be officer
to Monsieur.

It is plain the plan was formed by a clear head; it is plain
also that it had been bravely executed. Malicorne had
asked Manicamp to ask a brevet of maid of honor of the
Comte de Guiche; and the Comte de Guiche had asked this
brevet of Monsieur, who had signed it without hesitation.
The moral plan of Malicorne — for we may well suppose
that the combinations of a mind as active as his were not
confined to the present, but extended to the future — the
moral plan of Malicorne, we say, was this: To obtain en-
trance into the household of Mme. Henrietta for a woman
devoted to himself, who was intelligent, young, handsome.

54 TEN" TEARS LATER.

and intriguing; to learn, by means of this woman, all the
feminine secrets of the young household; while he, Mali-
corne, and his friend, Manicamp, should, between them,
know all the male secrets of the young community. It was
by these means that a rapid and splendid fortune might be
acquired at one and the same time. Malicorne was a vile
name; he who bore it had too much wit to conceal this
truth from himself; but an estate might be purchased; and
Malicorne of some place, or even De Malicorne itself, quite
short, would sound nobly in the ear.

It was not improbable that a most aristocratic origin might
be found for this name of Malicorne. Might it not come
from some estate where a bull with mortal horns had caused
some great misfortune and baptized the soil with the blood
it had spilled? Certes, this plan presented itself bristling
with difficulties; but the greatest of all was Mile, de Mon-
talais herself. Capricious, variable, close, giddy, free,
prudish, a virgin armed with claws, Erigone stained with
grapes, she sometimes overturned, with a single dash of her
white fingers, or with a single puff from her laughing lips,
the edifice which had employed the patience of Malicorne a
month to establish.

Love apart, Malicorne was happy; but this love, which
he could not help feeling, he had the strength to conceal
with care; persuaded that at the least relaxing of the ties
by which he had bound his Protean female, the demon
would overthrow him and laugh at him. He humbled his
mistress by disdaining her. Burning with desire, when she
advanced to tempt him, he had the art to appear ice, per-
suaded that if he opened his arms she would run away
laughing at him. On her side, Montalais believed she did
not love Malicorne; while, on the contrary, she did love
him. Malicorne repeated to her so often his protestation of
indifference that she finished sometimes by believing him;
and then she believed she detested Malicorne. If she tried
to bring him back by coquetry, Malicorne played the
coquette better than she could. But Avhat made Montalais
hold to Malicorne in an indissoluble fashion v/as, that Mali-
corne was always come cram full of fresh news from the
court and the city; it was that Malicorne always brought to
Blois a fashion, a secret, or a perfume; it was that Malicorne
never asked for a meeting, but, on the contrary, required
to be supplicated to receive the favors he burned to obtain.
On her side, Montalais was no miser with stories. By her
means Malicorne learned all that passed at Blois in the

TEN YEAES LATER. , 25

family of the dowager madame; and he related to Manicamp
tales that made him ready to die with laughing, which the
latter, out of idleness, took ready-made to M. de Guiche,
who carried them to Monsieur.

Such, in two words, was the woof of petty interests and
petty conspiracies which united Blois with Orleans, and
Orleans with Paris; and which was about to bring into
the last-named city, where she was to produce so great a
revolution, the poor little La Valliere, who was far from
suspecting, as she returned joyfully, leaning on the arm
of her mother, for what a strange future she was re-
served. As to the good man, Malicorne — we speak of the
syndic of Orleans — he did not see more clearly into the
present than others did into the future; and had no sus-
picion as he walked, every day, between three and five
o'clock, after his dinner, upon the Place St. Catherine, in
his gray coat, cut after the fashion of Louis XIII., and his
cloth shoes with great knots of ribbon, that it was he who
paid for all those bursts of laughter, all those stolen kisses,
all those whisperings, all that ribbonry, and all those bub-
ble projects which formed a chain of forty-five leagues in
length, from the Palais of Blois to the Palais Eoyal.

CHAPTEE V.

MANICAMP AND MALICORNE.

Malicorne, then, left Blois, as we have said, and went
to find his friend Manicamp, then in temporary retreat in
the city of Orleans. It was just at the moment when that
young nobleman was employed in selling the last piece of
decent clothing he had left. He had, a fortnight before,
extorted from the Comte de Guiche a hundred pistoles, all
he had, to assist in equipping him properly to go and meet
madame on her arrival at Havre. He had drawn from
Malicorne, three days before, fifty pistoles, the price of the
brevet obtained for Montalais. He had then no expecta-
tion from anything else, having exhausted all his resources,
with the exception of selling a handsome suit of cloth and
satin, all embroidered and laced with gold, which had been
the admiration of the court. But to be able to sell this
suit, the last he had left — as we have been forced to confess
to the reader — Manicamp had been obliged to take to his
bed. No more fixe, no more pocket-money, no more walk-
DuMAS — YOL. XY. 2

26 , TEN" TEARS LATER.

iiig-money, nothing but sleep to take the place of repasts,
companies, and balls. It has been said, "He who sleeps,
dines;" but it has not been said, "He who sleeps, plays,"
or, "He who sleeps, dances." Manicamp, reduced to this
extremity of neither playing nor dancing, for a week at
least, was, consequently, very sad; he was expecting a
usurer, and saw Malicorne enter. A cry of distress escaped
him.

"Eh! what!" said he, in a tone which nothing can de-
scribe, "is that you again, dear friend?"

"Humph! you are very polite!" said Malicorne.

"Ay, but look you, I was expecting money, aud, instead
of the money, I see you come."

"And supi^ose I brought you some money?"

"Oh! then it is quite another thing. You are very wel-
come, my dear friend."

And he held out his hand, not for the hand of Malicorne,
but for the purse. Malicorne pretended to be mistaken,
and gave him his hand.

"And the money?" said Manicamp.

"My dear friend, if you wish to have it, earn it."

"What must be done for it?"

"Earn it, parhleiiF^

"And after what fashion?"

"Oh! that is rather trying, I warn you."

"The devil!"

"You must get out of bed, and go immediately to Mon-
sieur le Oomte de Guiche."

"I get up!" said Manicamp, stretching himself in his
bed voluptuously, "oh, no, thank you!"

"You have then sold all your clothes?"

"No; I have one suit left, the handsomest even; but I
expect a purchaser."

"And the chmissesV

"Well, if you look, you can see them on that chair."

"Very well; since you have some ch misses and a pourpoi7it
left, put your legs into the first and your back into the
other, have a horse saddled, and set oflf."

"Not I."

"And why not?"

"Morbleti! don't you know, then, that Monsieur de Guiche
is at Etampes?"

"No; I thought he was at Paris; you will then only have
fifteen leagues to go, instead of thirty."

"You are a wonderfully clever fellow. If I were to ride

TEN YEARS LATER. 27

fifteen leagues in these clothes they would never be fit to
put on again; and, instead of selling them for thirty pis-
toles, 1 should be obliged to take fifteen."

'•Sell them for what you like, but I must have a second
commission of maid of honor."

"Good! For whom? Is IVtontalais doubled, then?"

"Vile fellow I It is you who are doubled. You swallow
up two fortunes — mine and that of Monsieur le Comte de
Guiche."

"You should say that of Monsieur le Comte de Guiche
and yours."

"That is true; honor where it is due; but I return to my
brevet."

"And you are wrong."

"Prove me that."

"My friend, there will only be twelve maids of honor for
madame; I have already obtained for you what twelve hun-
dred women are trying for, and for that I was forced to em-
ploy my diplomacy."

"Oh! yes, I know you have been quite heroic, my dear
friend."

"We know what we are about," said Manicamp.

"To whom do you tell that? When I am king, I promise
you one thing."

"What? To call you Malicorne I. ?"

"No; to make you surintendant of my finances; but that
-is not the question now."

"Unfortunately."

"The present affair is to procure for me a second place of
maid of honor."

"My friend, if you were to promise me heaven, I would
not disturb myself at this moment."

Malicorne chinked the money in his pocket.

"There are twenty pistoles here," said Malicorne.

"And what would you do with twenty pistoles, mon
Dieu!"

"Well," said Malicorne a little angrily, "suppose I were
only to add them to the five hundred you already owe me?"

"You are right," replied Manicamp, stretching out his
hand again, "and in that point of view I can accept them.
Give them to me."

"An instant. What the devil! it is not only holding out
your hand that will do; if I give you the twenty pistoles
shall I have my brevet?"

"To be sure you shall."

28 TEN "ZEAES LATEK.

"Soon?"

"To-day."

"Oh! take care. Monsieur de Manicamp; you undertake
much, and I do not ask that. Thirty leagues in a day is
too much, you would kill yourself."

"I think nothing impossible when obliging a friend."

"You are quite heroic."

"Where are the twenty pistoles?"

"Here they are," said Malicorne, showing them.

"That's well."

"Yes, but my dear Monsieur Manicamp, you would con-
sume them in nothing but post-horses."

"No, no; make yourself easy on that head."

''Pardon me. Why, it is fifteen leagues from this place
to Etampes."

"Fourteen."

"Well, fourteen be it; fourteen leagues make seven posts;
at twenty sous the post, seven livres; seven livres the
courier, fourteen; as many for coming back, twenty-eight;
as much for bed and supper, that makes sixty of the livres
which this complaisance would cost you."

Manicamp stretched himself like a serpent in his bed,
and fixing his two great eyes upon Malicorne, "You are
right," said he; "I could not return before to-morrow;"
and he took the twenty pistoles.

"Now, then, be off!"

"Well, as I cannot be back before to-morrow, we have
time."

"Time for what?"

"Time for play."

"What do you wish to play with?"

"Your twenty pistoles, pardieu!"

"No; you always win."

"I will wager them, then."

"Against what?"

"Against twenty others."

"And what will be the object of the wager?"

"This: We have said it was fourteen leagues to go to
Etampes?"

"Yes."

"And fourteen leagues back?"

"Doubtless."

"Well, for these twenty-eight leagues you cannot allow
less than fourteen hours?"

"That is agreed."

TEN TEARS LATER. 29

*'One hour to find the Comte de Guiche."

"Go ou."

"And an hour to persuade him to write a letter to Mon-
sieur."

"Just so."

"Sixteen hours in all?"

"You reckon as well as Monsieur Colbert."

"It is now twelve o'clock."

"Half-past."

^'Hein! you have a handsome watch."

"What were you saying?" said Malicorne, putting his
watch quickly back into his fob.

"Ah! true; I was offering to lay you twenty pistoles
against these you have lent me that you will have the Comte
de Guiche's letter in "

"How soon?"

"In eight hours."

"Have you a winged horse, then?"

"That is no matter. Will you lay?"

"I shall have the comte's letter in eight hours?"

"Yes." ■

"In hand?"

"In hand."

"Well, be it so; I lay," said Malicorne, curious to know
how this seller of clothes would get through.

"Is it agreed?"

"It is."

"Pass me the pen, ink, and paper."

"Here they are."

"Thank you."

Manicamp raised himself up with a sigh, and leaning on
his left elbow, he, in his best hand, traced the following
lines:

"An order for a place of maid of honor to madame, which
Monsieur le Comte de Guiche will take upon him to obtain
at sight. De Manicamp."

This painful task accomplished, he laid himself down in
bed again.

"Well?" asked Malicorne, "what does this mean?"

"That means that if you are in a hurry to have the letter
from the Comte de Guiche for Monsieur, I have won my
wager."

"How the devil is that?"

30 TEN YEARS LATER.

"That is transparent enough, I think; you take that
paper."

"Well?"

"And you set out instead of me."

"Ah!"

"You put your horses to their best speed."

"Good!"

"In six hours you will be at Etampes; in seven hours you
have the letter from the comte, and I shall have won my
wager without stirring from my bed, which suits me, and
you, too, at the same time, I am very sure."

"Decidedly, Manicamp, you are a great man."

''Hein! I know that."

"I am to start, then, for Etampes?"

"Directly."

"I am to go to the Comte de Guiche with this order?"

"He will give you a similar one for Monsieur."

"Monsieur will ajjprove?"

"Instantly."

"And I shall have my brevet?"

"You will."

"Ah!"

"Well, I hope I behave genteelly."

"Adorably."

"Thank you."

"You do as you please, then, with the Comte de Guiche,
Malicorne?"

"Except making money of him — everything."

^^Diahle! the exception is annoying; but then, instead of
asking him for money, you were to ask "

"What?"_

"Something important."

"What do you call important?"

"Well, suppose one of your friends asked you to render
him a service?"

"I would not render it to him."

"Selfish fellow!"

"Or, at least, I would ask him what service he would
render me in exchange."

"Ah! that, perhaps, is fair. Well, that friend speaks to
you."

"What, you, Malicorne?"

"Yes; it is I."

"Ah! ah! you are rich, then?"

"I have still fifty pistoles left."

TEN YEARS LATER. 31

"Exactly the sum I want. Where are those fifty pis-
toles?"

"Here," said Malicorne, slapping his pocket.

"Then speak, my friend; what do you want?"

Malicorne took uj) the pen, ink, and paper again, and
presented them all to Manicamp.

"Write," said he.

"Dictate."

"An order for a place in the household of Monsieur."

"Oh!" said Manicamp, laying down the pen, "a place in
the household of Monsieur for fifty pistoles?"

"You mistook me, my friend; you did not hear plainly."

"What did you say, then?"

"I said five hundred."

"And the five hundred?"

"Here they are."

Manicamp devoured the roiileau with his eyes; but this
time Malicorne held it at a distance.

"Eh! what do you say to that? Five hundred pistoles."

"I say it is for nothing, my friend," said Manicamp, tak-
ing up the pen again, "and you will wear out my credit.
Dictate."

Malicorne continued:

"Which my friend the Comte de Guiche will obtain for
my friend Malicorne."

"That's it," said Manicamp.

"Pardon me, you have forgotten to sign."

"Ah! that is true."

"The five hundred pistoles?"

"Here are two hundred and fifty of them."

"And the other two hundred and fifty?"

"When I shall be in possession of my place."

Manicamp made a face.

"In that case, give me the recommendation back again."

"What to do?"

"To add two words to it."

"Two words?"

"Yes, two words only."

"What are they?"

"In haste."

Malicorne returned the recommendation; Manicamp
added the words.

"Good!" said Malicorne, taking back the paper.

Manicamp began to count the pistoles.

"They want twenty," said he.

32 TEN YEARS LATER.

''How SO?"

"The twenty I have won."

"In what way?"

"By laying that you would have the letter from the Comte
de Guiche in eight hours."

"Ah! that's iair;" and he gave him the twenty pistoles.

Manicamp began to take up his gold by handfuls, and
pour it down in cascades upon his bed.

"This second place," murmured Malicorne, while drying
his paper, "which, at the first glance, appears to cost me
more than the first, but "

He stopped, took up the pen in his turn, and wrote to
Montalais:

"Mademoiselle: Announce to your friend that her
commission will not be long before it arrives; I am setting
out to get it signed; that will be twenty-eight leagues I
shall have gone for the love of you."

Then, with his demon's smile, taking up the interrupted
sentence:

"This place," said he, "at the first glance, appears to
cost more than the first; but the benefit will be, I hope, in
proportion with the expense, and Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere will bring me back more than Mademoiselle de Mon-
talais, or else — or else my name is not Malicorne. Fare-
well, Manicamp," and he left the room.

CHAPTEE VI.

THE COURTYARD OF THE HOTEL GRAMMONT.

On Malicorne's arrival at Orleans he was informed that
the Comte de Guiche had just set out for Paris. Malicorne
rested himself for a couple of hours, and then prepared to
continue his journey. He reached Paris during the night,
and alighted at a small hotel, where, in his previous journeys
to the capital, he had been accustomed to put up, and at
eight o'clock the next morning he presented himself at the
Hotel Grammont. Malicorne arrived just in time, for the
Count de Guiche was on the point of taking leave of Mon-
sieur before setting out for Havre, where the principal
members of the French nobility had gone to await madame's
arrival from England. Malicorne pronounced the name of

TEN YEARS LATER. 33

Manicamp, and was immediately admitted. He found the
Comte de Guiche in the courtyard of the Hotel Grammont,
inspecting his horses, which his trainers and equerries were
passing in review before him. The count, in the presence
of his tradespeople and of his servants, Avas engaged in
praising or blaming, as the case seemed to deserve, the ap-
pointments, horses, and harness which were being submitted
to him, when, in the midst of this important occupation,
the name of Manicamp was announced.

"Manicamp!" he exclaimed; "let him enter, by all
means."

And he advanced a few steps toward the door.

Malicorne slipped through the half-open door, and look-
ing at the Comte de Guiche, who was surprised to see a face
which he did not recognize, instead of the one he expected,
said:

"Forgive me, Monsieur le Comte, but I believe a mistake
has been made. Monsieur Manicamp himself was announced
to you, instead of which it is only an envoy from him."

"Ah!" exclaimed De Guiche coldly; "and what do you
bring me?"

"A letter, Monsieur le Comte."

Malicorne handed him the first document, and narrowly
watched the comte's face, who, as he read it, began to
laugh.

"What!" he exclaimed, "another maid of honor? Are
all the maids of honor in France, then, under his protec-
tion?"

Malicorne bowed.

"Why does he not come himself?" he inquired.

"He is confined to his bed."

"The deuce! he has no money, then, I suppose?" said
De Guiche, shrugging his shoulders. "What does he do
with his money?"

Malicorne made a movement to indicate that upon this
subject he was as ignorant as the comte himself.

"Why does he not make use of his credit, then?" con-
tinued De Guiche.

"With regard to that, I think "

"What?"

"That Manicamp has credit with no one but yourself,
Monsieur le Comte."

"He will not be at Havre, then?"

Whereupon Malicorne made another movement.

"But every one will be there."

34 TEN YEARS LATER.

"I trust, Monsieur le Comte, that he will not neglect so
excellent an opportunity."

"He should be at Paris by this time."

"He will take the direct road, then, to make up for lost
time."

"Where is he now?"

"At Orleans."

"Monsieur," said De Guiche, ''you seem to me a man of
very good taste."

Malicorne wore Manicamp's clothes. He bowed in re-
turn, saying:
' "You do me a very great honor. Monsieur le Comte."

"Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

"My name is Malicorne, monsieur."

"Monsieur de Malicorne, what do you think of these
pistol-holsters?"

Malicorne was a man of great readiness, and immediately
understood the position of affairs. Besides, the "de"
which had been prefixed to his name raised him to the
rank of the person with whom he was conversing. He
looked at the holsters with the air of a connoisseur, and
said, without hesitation:

"Somewhat heavy, monsieur."

"You see," said De Guiche to the saddler, "this gentle-
man, who understands these matters well, thinks the holsters
heavy, a complaint I had already made."

The saddler was full of excuses.

"What do you think," asked De Guiche, "of this horse
v.'hich I have Just purchased?"

"To look at it, it seems perfect. Monsieur le Comte; but
I must mount it before I give you my opinion."

"Do so. Monsieur de Malicorne, and ride him round the
court two or three times."

The courtyard of the hotel was so arranged that when-
ever there was any occasion for it, it could be used as a
riding-school. Malicorne, with perfect ease, arranged the
bridle and snaffle-reins, placed his left hand on the horse's
mane, and, with his foot in the stirrup, raised himself and
seated himself in the saddle. At first he made the horse
walk the whole circuit of the courtyard at a foot-pace; next
at a trot; lastly at a gallop. He then drew up close to the
count, dismounted, and threw the bridle to a groom stand-
ing by.

"Well," said the comte, "what do you think of it. Mon-
sieur de Malicorne?"

TEN TEARS L.^TER. 60

"This horse, Monsieur le Comte, is of the Mecklenburg
breed. In looking whether the bit suited his mouth, I saw
that he was rising seven, the very age when the training of
a horse intended for a charger should commence. The
forehand is light. A horse that holds its head high, it is
said, never tires his rider's hand. The withers are rather
low. The drooping of the hind-quarters would almost
make me doubt the purity of its German breed, and I think
there is English blood in him. lie stands well on his legs,
but he trots high, and may cut himself, which requires at-
tention to be paid to his shoeing. He is tractable; and as I
made him turn round and change his feet, I found him
quick and ready in doing so."

"Well said. Monsieur de Malicornel" exclaimed the
comte. "You are a judge of horses, I perceive;" then, turn-
ing toward him again, he continued: "You are most becom-
ingly dressed. Monsieur de Malicorne. That is not a
provincial cut, I presume. Such a style of dress is not to
be met with at Tours or Orleans."

"No, Monsieur le Comte; my clothes were made at
Paris."

"There is no doubt of that. But let us resume our own
affair. Manicamp wishes for the appointment of a second
maid of honor."

"You perceive what he has written, Monsieur le Comte."

"For whom was the first appointment?"
. Malicorne felt the color rise in his face as he answered
hurriedly:

"A charming maid of honor. Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Ah, ah! you are acquainted with her?"

"We are affianced, or nearly so."

"That is quite another thing, then — a thousand compli-
ments!" exclaimed De Guiche, upon whose lips a courtier's
jest was already flitting, but to whom the word "affianced,"
addressed by Malicorne with respect to Mile, de Montalais,
recalled the respect due to women.

"And for whom is the second appointment destined?"
asked De Guiche; "is it for any one to whom Manicamp
may happen to be aifianced? In that case, I pity her, poor
girl! for she will have a sad fellow for a husband in him."

"No, Monsieur le Comte; the second appointment is for
Mademoiselle la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere."

"Unknown," said De Guiche.

"Unknown? yes, monsieur," said Malicorne, smiling in
his turn.

36 TEN YEAKS LATER.

"Very good. I will speak to Monsieur about it. By the
bye, she is of gentle birth?"

"She belongs to a very good family, and is maid of honor
to madame."

"That's well. Will you accompany me to Monsieur?"

"Most certainly, if I may be permitted the honor."

"Have you your carriage?"

"No; I came here on horseback."

"Dressed as you are?"

"No, monsieur; I posted from Orleans, and I changed
my traveling-suit for the one I have on, in order to present
myself to you."

"True, you already told me you had come from Orleans;"
saying which he crumpled Manicamp's letter in his hand,
and thrust it in his pocket.

"I beg your pardon," said Malicorne timidly; "but I do
not think you have read all."

"Not read all, do you say?"

"No; there were two letters in the same envelope."

"Oh, oh! are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Let us look, then," said the comte, as he opened the
letter again.

"Ah! you are right," he said, opening the paper which
he had not yet read.

"I suspected it," he continued, "another application for
an appointment under Monsieur. This Manicamp is a com-
plete gulf — he is carrying on a trade in it."

"No, Monsieur le Comte; he wishes to make a present of
it."

"To whom?"

"To myself, monsieur."

"Why did you not say so at once, my dear Monsieur Mau-
vaisecorne?"

"Malicorne, Monsieur le Comte."

"Forgive me; it is the Latin which bothers me — that
terrible habit of etymologies. Why the deuce are young
men of family taught Latin? Mala and mauvaise — you un-
derstand it is the same thing. You will forgive me, I trust.
Monsieur de Malicorne."

"Your kindness affects me much, monsieur; but it is a
reason why I should make you acquainted with one circum-
stance without any delay."

"What is it?"

"That I was not born a gentleman. I am not without

TEN YEAES LATER. 37

courage, and not altogether deficient in ability; but my
name is Malicorne simply."

"You appear to me, monsieur," exclaimed the comte,
looking at the astute face of his companion, "to be a most
agreeable man. Your face pleases me. Monsieur Malicorne;
and you must possess some indisputably excellent qualities
to have pleased that egotistical Manicamp. Be candid, and
tell me whether you are not some saint descended upon the
earth."

"Why so?"

"For the simple reason that he makes you a present of
anything. Did you not say that he intended to make you a
present of some appointment in the king's household?"

"I beg your pardon, comte; but, if I succeed in obtaining
the appointment, you, and not he, will have bestowed it on
me."

"Besides, he will hot have given it to you for nothing, I
supijose. Stay, I have it; there is a Malicorne at Orleans
who lends money to the prince."

"I think that must be my father, monsieur."

"All! the prince has the father, and that terrible devourer
of a Manicamp has the son. Take care, monsieur; I know
him. He will fleece you completely."

"The only difference is, that I lend without interest,"
said Malicorne, smiling.

"I was correct in saying you were either a saint or very
much resembled one. Monsieur Malicorne, you shall have
the post you want, or I will forfeit my name."

"Ah! Monsieur le Comte, what a debt of gratitude shall
I not owe you!" said Malicorne, transported.

"Let us go to the prince, my dear Monsieur Malicorne."

And De Guiche proceeded toward the door, desiring Mali-
corne to follow him. At the very moment they were about
to cross the threshold a young man appeared on the other
side. He was from twenty-four to twenty-five years of age,
of pale complexion, bright eyes, and brown hair and eye-
brows.

"Good-day!" he said suddenly, almost pushing De
Guiche back into the courtyard again.

"Is that you, De Wardes? What! and booted, spurred,
and whip in hand, too?"

"The most befitting costume for a man about to set off
for Havre. There will be no one left in Paris to-morrow."

And hereupon he saluted Malicorne with great ceremony,
whose handsome dress gave him the appearance of a prince
in rank.

38 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Monsieur Maiicorne/' said De Guiohe to his friend.

De Wardes bowed.

"Monsieur de Wardes," said De Guiclie to Malicorne,
who bowed in return. "By the b3'e, De Wardes," continued
De Guiche, "you who are so well acquainted with these mat-
ters, can you tell us, probably, what appointments are still
vacant at the court; or, rather, in the prince's household?"

"In the prince's household," said De Wardes, looking up
with an air of consideration, "let me see — the appointment
of the master of the horse is vacant, I believe."

"Oh," said Malicorne, "there is no question of such a
post as that, monsieur; my ambition is not nearly so ex-
alted."

De Wardes had a more penetrating observation than De
Guiche, and understood Malicorne immediately.

"The fact is," he said, looking at him from head to foot,
"a man must be either a duke or a peer to fill that post."

"All I solicit," said Malicorne, "is a very humble ap-
pointment; I am of little importance, and I do not rank
myself above my position."

"Monsieur Malicorne, whom you see here," said De
Guiche to De Wardes, "is a very excellent fellow, whose'
only misfortune is that of not being of gentle birth. As far
as I am concerned, you know, I attach little value to those
who have gentle birth alone to boast of."

"Assuredly," said De Wardes; "but will you allow me to
remark, my dear comte, that, without rank of some sort,
one can hardly hope to belong to his royal highness' house-
hold?"

"You are right," said the comte; "the etiquette is very
strict with regard to such matters. The deuce! we never
thought of that."

"Alas I a sad misfortune for me. Monsieur le Comte,"
said Malicorne, changing color slightly.

"Yet not Avithout remedy, I hope," returned De Guiche.

"The remedy is found easily enough," exclaimed De
Wardes; "you can be created a gentleman. His eminence
the Cardinal Mazarin did nothing else from morning till
night."

"Hush, hush, De Wardes!" said the comte; "no jests of
that kind; it ill becomes us to turn such matters into ridi-
cule. Letters of nobility, it is true, are purchasable; but
that is a sufficient misfortune without the nobles themselves
laughing at it."

"Upon my word, De Guiche, you're quite a Puritan, as
the English say."

TEK YEARS LATER. 39

At this moment the Vicomte de Bragelonne was an-
nounced by one of the servants in the courtyard, in pre-
cisely the same manner as he would have done in a room.

"Come here, my dear Eaoul. What! you, too, booted
and spurred? You are setting off, then?"

Bragelonne approached the group of young men, and
saluted them with that quiet and serious manner which was
peculiar to him. His salutation was principally addressed
to De Wardes, with whom he was unacquainted, and whose
features, on his perceiving Eaoul, had assumed a strange
sternness of expression.

"1 have come, De Guiche," he said, "to ask your com-
panionshij). We set off for Havre, I presume."

"This is admirable — this is delightful. We shall have a
capital journey. Monsieur Malicorne, Monsieur Brage-
lonne—ah! Monsieur de Wardes, let me present you."

The young men saluted each other in a restrained manner.
Their two natures seemed, from the very beginning, dis-
posed to take exception to one another. De Wardes was
pliant, subtle and full of dissimulation; Eaoul was calm,
grave, and upright.

"Decide between us — between De Wardes and myself,
Eaoul."

"iJpon what subject?"

"Upon the subject of noble birth."

"Who can be better informed on that subject than a De
Grammont?"

"No compliments; it is your opinion I ask,"

"At least, inform me of the subject under discussion."

"De Wardes asserts that the distribution of titles is
abused; I, on the contrary, maintain that a title is useless
as regards the man on whom it is bestowed,"

"And you are correct," said Bragelonne quietly.

"But, Monsieur le Vicomte," interrupted De Wardes,
with a kind of obstinacy, "I affirm that it is I who am
correct."

"What was your opinion, monsieur?"

"I was saying that everything is done in France at the
present moment to humiliate men of family."

"And by whom?"

"By the king himself. He surrounds himself with peo-
ple who cannot show four quarterings,"

"Nonsense," said De Guiche; "where could you possibly
have seen that, De Wardes?"

"One example will suffice," he returned, directing his
look fully upon Eaoul.

40 TEN TEARS LATER.

"State it, then."

"Do you know who has just been nominated captain-gen-
eral of the musketeers — an ajapointment more valuable than
a peerage; for it gives precedence over all the marechals of
France?"

Eaoul's color mounted in bis face; for he saw the object
De Wardes had in view. "No; who has been appointed?
In any case it must have been very recently, for the appoint-
ment was vacant eight days ago; a proof of which is, that
the king refused Monsieur, who solicited the post for one of
h.\B proteges.'^

"Well, the king refused it to Monsieur's protege, in
order to bestow it upon the Chevalier d'Artagnan, a younger
brother of some Gascon family, who has been training his
sword in the antechambers during the last thirty years."

"Forgive me if I interrupt you," said Kaoul, darting a
glance full of severity at De Wardes; "but you give me the
impression of being unacquainted with the gentleman of
whom you are speaking."

"I unacquainted with Monsieur d'Artagnan? Can you
tell me, monsieur, who does know him?"

"Those who know him, monsieur," replied Eaoul, with
still greater calmness and sternness of manner, "are in the
habit of saying that if he is not as good a gentleman as the
king — which is not his fault — he is the equal of all the kings
of the earth in courage and loyalty. Such is my opinion,
monsieur; and I thank Heaven I have known Monsieur
d'Artagnan from my birth."

De AVardes was about to reply when De Guiche inter-
rupted him.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PORT-RAIT OF MADAME.

The discussion was becoming full of bitterness. De
Guiche perfectly understood the whole matter, for there was
in Bragelonne's look something distinctively hostile, while
in that of De Wardes there was something like a determina-
tion to ofi'end. Without inquiring into the different feel-
ings Avhich actuated his two friends, De Guiche resolved to
ward off the blow which he felt was on the point of being
dealt by one of them, and perhaps by both. "Gentlemen,"
he said, "we must take our leave of one another; I must

TEN TEAES LATER. 41

pay a visit to Monsieur. You, De Wardes, will accompany
me to the Louvre, and you, Eaoul, will remain here master
of the house; and as all that is done here is under your ad-
vice, you will bestow the last glance upon my preparations
for departure."

Eaoul, with the air of one who neither seeks nor fears a
quarrel, bowed his head in token of assent, and seated him-
self upon a bench in the sun. "That is well," said De
Guiche, "remain where you are, Eaoul, and tell them to
show you the two horses I have just purchased; you will
give me your opinion, for I only bought them on condition
that you ratified the purchase. By the bye, I have to beg
your pardon for having omitted to inquire after the Comte
de la Fere." While pronouncing these latter words, he
closely observed De Wardes, in order to perceive what effect
the name of Eaoul's father would produce upon him.

"I thank you," answered the young man, "the count is
very well." A gleam of deep hatred passed into De Wardes'
eyes. ' De Guiche, who apj)eared not to notice the forebod-
ing expression, went up to Eaoul, and grasping him by the
hand, said:

"It is agreed, then, Bragelonne, that you will rejoin us in
the courtyard of the Palais Eoyal?" He then signed to De
Wardes to follow him, who had been engaged in balancing
himself first on one foot, then on the other. "We are go-
ing," said he; "come. Monsieur Malicorne." This name
made Eaoul start; for it seemed that he had already heard
it pronounced before, but he could not remember on what
occasion. AVhile trying fo do so, half-dreamily, yet half-
irritated at his conversation with De Wardes, the three
young men were on their way toward the Palais Eoyal,
where Monsieur was residing, Malicorne learned "tw®
things; the first, that the young men had something to say
to one another; and the second, that he ought not to walk
in the same line with them; and therefore he walked be-
hind. "Are you mad?" said De Guiche to his companion,
as soon as they had left the Hotel Grammont; "you attack
Monsieur d'Artagnan, and that, too, before Eaoul,"

"Well," said De Wardes, "what then?"

"What do you mean by 'what then?' "

"Certainly, is there any prohibition against attacking
Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"But you know very well that Monsieur d'Artagnan was
one of those celebrated and terrible four men who were
called the musketeers."

42 TEN YEARS LATER.

'"That they may be; but I do not perceive why, on that
account, I should be forbidden to hate Monsieur d'Artag-
nan."

"What cause has he given you?"

"Me! personally, none."

"Why hate him, therefore?"

"Ask my dead father that question."

"Eeally, my dear De Wardes,you surprise me. Monsieur
d'Artagnan is not one to leave unsettled any enmity he
may have to arrange, without completely clearing his ac-
count. Your father, I have heard, on his side, carried mat-
ters with a high hand. Moreover, there are no enmities so
bitter which cannot be washed away by blood, by a good
sword-thrust loyally given."

"Listen to me, my dear De Guiche, this inveterate dis-
like existed between my father and Monsieur d'Artagnan,
and when I was quite a child he acquainted me with the
reason for it, and, as forming part of my inheritance, I re-
gard it as a particular legacy bestowed ui^on me."

"And does this hatred concern Monsieur d'Artagnan
alone?"

"As for that. Monsieur d'Artagnan was too intimately as-
sociated with his three friends, that some portion of the
full measure of my hatred for him should not fall to their
lot, and that hatred is of such a nature that, whenever the
opportunity occurs, they shall have no occasion to complain
of their portion."

De Guiche had kept his eyes fixed on De Wardes, and
shuddered at the bitter manner in which the young man
smiled. Something like a presentiment flashed across his
mind; he knew that the time had passed aw^y for grands
coups ejitre gentilsliommes; but that the feeling of hatred
treasured up in the mind, instead of being diffused abroad,
was still hatred all the same; that a smile was sometimes as
full of meaning as a threat; and, in a word, that to the
fathers who had hated with their hearts and fought with
their arms Avould now succeed the sons, who, themselves
also, would indeed hate with their hearts, but would no
longer encounter their enemies, save by the means of in-
trigue or treachery. As, therefore, it certainly was not
Raoul whom he could suspect either of intrigue or treach-
ery, it was on Raoul's account that De Guiche trembled.
However, while these gloomy forebodings cast a shade of
anxiety over De Guiche's countenance, De Wardes had
resumed the entire mastery over himself.

TEN YEARS LATER. 43

"At all events," he observed, "I have no personal ill-will
toward Monsieur de Bragelonne; I do not know him even."

"In any case," said De Guiche, with a certain amount of
severity in his tone of voice, "do not forget one circum-
stance, that Raoul is my most intimate friend;" a remark
at which De Wardes bowed.

The conversation terminated there, although De Guiche
tried his utmost to draw out his secret from him; but,
doubtless, De Wardes had determined to say nothing fur-
ther, and he remained impenetrable. De Guiche, there-
fore, promised himself a more satisfactory result with
Eaoul. In the meantime, they had reached the Palais
Eoyal, which was surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on.
The household belonging to Monsieur awaited his orders to
mount their horses, in order to form part of the escort of
the embassadors, to whom had been intrusted the care of
bringing the young princess to Paris. The brilliant disphiy
of horses, arms, and rich liveries afforded some compensa-
tion in those times, thanks to the kindly feelings of the
people, and to the traditions of deep devotion to their
sovereigns, for the enormous expenses charged upon the
taxes. Mazarin had said: "Let them sing, provided they
pay;" while Louis XIV.'s remark was, "Let them look."
Sight had replaced the voice; the people could still look, but
they could no longer siag. De Guiche left De Wardes and
Malicorne at the bottom of the grand staircase, while he
himself, who shared the favor and good graces of Monsieur
with the Chevalier de Lorraine, who always smiled at him
most affectionately, while he could not endure him, went
straight to the prince's apartments, whom he found engaged
in admiring himself in a glass, and in putting rouge on his
face. In a corner of the cabinet the Chevalier de Lorraine
was extended full length upon some cushions, having just
had his long hair curled, with which he was playing in the
same manner a woman would have done. The prince
turned round as the count entered, and perceiving who it
was, said: "Ah! is that you, Guiche; come here and tell me
the truth."

"You know, my lord, it is one of my defects to speak the
truth."

"You will hardly believe, De Guiche, how that wicked
chevalier has annoyed me."

The chevalier shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, he pretends," continued the prince, "that Made-
moiselle Henrietta is better looking as a Avoman than I am
as a man."

44 TEN" YEAES LATER.

"Do not forget, my lord," said De Gniche, frowning
slightly, "you .require me to speak the truth?"

"Certainly," said the prince tremblingly.

"Well, and I shall tell it you."

"Do not be in a hurry, Guiche," exclaimed the prince,
"you have plenty of time; look at me attentively, and try
and recollect madame. Besides, her portrait is here. Look
at it." And he held out to him a miniature of the finest
possible execution. De Guiche took it, and looked at it for
a long time attentively.

"Upon my honor, my lord, this is indeed a most lovely
face."

"But look at me, count, look at me," said the prince, en-
deavoring to direct upon himself the attention of the count,
ivho was completely absorbed in contemplation of the
portrait.

"It is wonderful," murmured Guiche.

"Really, one would almost imagine you had never seen
this girl before."

"It is true, my lord, I have seen her, but it is five years
ago; there is a great difference between a child twelve years
old and a young girl of seventeen."

"Well, what is your opinion?"

"My opinion is that the portrait must be flattered, my
lord."

"Of that," said the prince triumphantly, "there can be
no doubt; but let us suppose that it is not flattered, what
would your opinion be?"

"My lord, your highness is exceedingly happy to have so
charming a bride."

"Very well, that is your opinion of her, but of me?"

"My opinion, my lord, is, that you are far too handsome
for a man."

The Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing. The prince
understood how severe toward himself this opinion of the
Comte de Guiche was, and he looked somewhat displeased,
saying, "My friends are not overindulgent." De Guiche
looked at the portrait again, and, after lengthened contem-
plation, returned it with apparent unwillingness, saying,
"Most decidedly, my lord, I should rather prefer to look
ten times at your highness than to look at madame once
again."

It seemed as if the chevalier had detected some mystery
in these words which were incomprehensible to the prince,
for he exclaimed: "Very well, get married yourself." Mon-

TEN TEARS LATER. 45

sienr continued rouging himself, and when he had finished
looked at the portrait again, once more turned to admire
himself in the glass, and smiled, and no doubt was satisfied
with the comparison. "You are very kind to have come,"
he said to Guiche, "I feared you would leave without bid-
ding me adieu."

"Your highness knows me too well to believe me capable
of so great a disrespect."

"Besides, I suppose you have something to ask from me
before leaving Paris?"

"Your highness has indeed guessed correctly, for I have
a request to make."

"Very good, what is it?"

The Chevalier de Lorraine immediately displayed the
greatest attention, for he regarded every favor conferred
upon another as a robbery committed against himself.
And, as Guiche hesitated, the prince said: "If it be money,
nothing could be more fortunate, for I am in funds; the
surintendant of the finances has sent me five hundred
thousand pistoles."

"I thank your highness; but it is not an affair of money."

"What is it, then? Tell me."

"The appointment of a maid of honor."

"Oh! oh! Guiche, what a protector you have become of
young ladies," said the prince; "you never speak of any
one else now."

The Chevalier de Lorraine smiled, for he knew very well
that nothing displeased the prince more than to show any
interest in ladies, "My lord," said the comte, "it is not I
who am directly interested in the lady of whom I have just
spoken; I am acting on behalf of one of my friends."

"Ah! that is different. AVhat is the name of the young
lady in whom your friend is interested?"

"Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere; she
is already maid of honor to the dowager princess."

"Why, she is lame," said the Chevalier de Lorraine,
stretching himself on his cushions.

"Lame," repeated the prince, "and madame to have her
constantly before her eyes? Most certainly not; it may be
dangerous for her when in an interesting condition." The
Chevalier de Lorraine burst out laughing.

"Chevalier," said Guiche, "your conduct is ungenerous;
while I am soliciting a favor, you do me all the mischief you
can."

"Forgive me, comte," said the Chevalier de Lorraine,

46 TEN" YEARS LATER.

somewhat uneasy at the tone in which Giiiche had made his
remark, "but I had no intention of doing so, and I begin to
believe that I have mistaken one young lady for another."

"There is no doubt of it, monsieur; and I do not hesitate
to declare that such is the case."

"Do you attach much importance to it, Guiche?" in-
quired the prince.

"I do, my lord."

"Well, you shall have it; but ask me for no more appoint-
ments, for there are none to give away."

"Ah!" exclaimed the chevalier, "midday already; that
is the hour fixed for the departure."

"You dismiss me, monsieur?" inquired Guiche.

"Eeally, comte, you treat me very ill to-day/' replied
the chevalier.

"For heaven's sake, comte, for heaven's sake, chevalier,"
said Monsieur, "do you not see how you are distressing me?"

"My signature?" said Guiche.

"Take a blank appointment from that drawer, and give it
to me." Guiche handed the prince the document indi-
cated, and at the same time presented him with a pen al-
ready dipped in ink; whereupon the prince signed.
"Here," he said, returning him the appointment; "but I
give it on one condition."

"Name it."

"That you will make friends with the chevalier."

"Willingly," said Guiche. And he held out his hand to
the chevalier with an indifference amounting to contempt.

"Adieu, comte," said the chevalier, without seeming in
any way to have noticed the comte's slight; "adieu, and
bring us back a princess who will not talk with her own
portrait too much."

"Yes, set off and lose no time. By the bye, who accom-
panies you?"

"Bragelonne and De Wardes."

"Both excellent and fearless companions."

"Too fearless," said the chevalier; "endeavor to bring
them both back, comte."

"Bad heart, bad heart," murmured De Guiche; "he
scents mischief everywhere, and sooner than anything else "
And taking leave of the prince, he quitted the apartment.
As soon as he reached the vestibule he waved in the air the
paper which the prince had signed. Malicorne hurried for-
ward, and received it trembling with delight. When, how-
ever, he held it in his hand, Guiche observed that he still
awaited something further.

TEK TEARS LATER. 47

''Patience, monsieur," he said; "the Chevalier de Lor-
raine was there, and I feared an utter failure if I asked too
much at once. Wait until I return. Adieu."

"Adieu, Monsieur le Comte; a thousand thanks," said
Malicorne.

"Send Manicanip to me. By the way, monsieur, is it
true that Mademoiselle de la Valliere is lame?" As he said
this a horse drew up behind him, and on turning round he
noticed that Bragelonne, who had just at that moment en-
tered the courtyard, turned suddenly pale. The poor lover
had heard the remark, which, however, was not the case with
Malicorne, for he was already beyond the reach of the
comte 's voice.

"Why is Louise's name spoken of here?" said Eaoul to
himself; "oh! let not De Wardes, who stands smiling yon-
der, even say a word about her in my presence."

"Now, gentlemen," exclaimed the Comte de Guiche,
"prepare to start."

At this moment the prince, who had completed his toilet,
appeared at the window, and was immediately saluted by
the acclamations of all who composed the escort, and ten
minutes afterward banners, scarfs, and feathers were flut-
tering and waving in the air, as the cavalcade galloped away

CHAPTER VIIL

HAVRE.

This brilliant and animated company, the members of
which were inspired by various feelings, arrived at Havre
four days after their departure from Paris. It was about
five o'clock in the afternoon, and no intelligence had yet
been received of madame. They were soon engaged in
quest of apartments; but the greatest confusion immedi-
ately ensued among the masters, and violent quarrels among
their attendants. In the midst of this disorder the Comte
de Guiche fancied he recognized Manicamp. It was, in-
deed, Manicamp himself; but as Malicorne had taken
possession of his very best costume, he had not been able to
get any other than a suit of violet velvet trimmed with
silver. Guiche recognized him as much by his dress as by
his features, for he had very frequently seen Manicamp in
this violet suit, which was his last resource. ManicamjD pre-
sented himself to the comte under an arch of torches.

48 TEK YEAES LATER.

which set fire to, rather than illuminated, the gate by which
Havre is entered, and which is situated close to the tower
of Francis I. The comte, remarking the woe-begane ex-
pression of Mauicamp's face, could not resist laughing.
"Well, my poor Manicamp," he exclaimed, "how violet you
look; are you in mourning?"

"Yes," replied Manicamp; "I am in mourning."

"For whom, or for what?"

"For my blue-and-gold suit, which has disappeared, and
in place of which I could find nothing but this; and I was
even obliged to economize, from compulsion, in order to
get possession of it."

"Indeed?"

"It is singular you should be astonished at that, since you
leave me without any money."

"At all events, here you are, and that is the principal
thing."

"By the most horrible roads."

"Where are you lodging?"

"Lodging?"

"Yes."

"I am not lodging anywhere."

De Guiche began to laugh. "Well," said he, ''where do
you intend to lodge?"

"In the same place you do."

"But I don't know."

"What do you mean by saying you don't know?"

"Certainly, how is it likely I should know where I should
stay?"

"Have you not retained a hotel?"

"I?"

"Yes, you or the prince."

"Neither of us has thought of it. Havre is of consider-
able size, I suppose; and provided I can get a stable for a
dozen horses and a suitable house in a good quarter "

"Certainly, there are some very excellent houses."

"Well, then "

"But not for us."

"What do you mean by saying not for us? For whom,-
then?"

"For the En2:lish, of course."

"For the English?"

"Yes; the houses are all taken."

"By whom?"

"By the Duke of Buckingham."

TEX TEARS LATER. 49

"I beg your pardon!" said Giiiche, whose attention this
name had awakened.

"Yes, by the Duke of Buckingham. His grace has been
preceded by a courier, who arrived here three days ago, and
immediately retained all the houses fit for habitation which
the town possesses."

"Come, come, Manicamp, let us understand each other."

"Well, what I have told you is clear enough, it seems to
me."

"But surely Buckingham does not occupy the whole of
Havre?"

"He certainly does not occupy it, since he has not yet
arrived; but when once disembarked, he will occupy it."

"Oh! oh!"

"It is quite clear you are not acquainted with the Eng-
lish; they have a perfect rage for monopolizing every-
thing."

"That may be; but a man who has the whole of one
house is satisfied with it, and does not require two."

"Yes, but two men?"

"Be it so; for two men, two houses, or four, or six, or
ten, if you like; but there are a hundred houses at Havre."

"Yes, and all the hundred are let."

"Impossible!"

"What an obstinate fellow you are! I tell you Bucking-
ham has hired all the houses surrounding the one which the
queen dowager of England and the princess, her daughter,
will inhabit."

"He is singular enough, indeed," said De Wardes, caress-
ing his horse's neck.

"Such is the case, however, monsieur."

"You are quite sure of it. Monsieur de Manicamp?" and
as he put this question he looked slyly at De Guiche, as
though to interrogate him upon the degree of confidence to
be placed in his friend's state of mind. During this dis-
cussion the night had closed in, and the torches, pages, at-
tendants, squires, horses, and carriages blocked up the
gate and the open place. The torches were reflected in the
channel which the rising tide was gradually filling, while
on the other side of the jetty might be noticed groups of
curious lookers-on, consisting of sailors and townspeople,
who seemed anxious to miss nothing of the spectacle. Amid
all this hesitation of purpose, Bragelonne, as though a per-
fect stranger to the scene, remained on his horse somewhat
in the rear of Guiche, and watched the rays of light re-
DuMAS— Vol. XY. 3

50 TEN YEARS LATER.

fleeted in the water, inhaling with rapture the sea breezes,
and listening to the waves which noisily broke upon the
shore and on the beach, dashing the spray into the air with
a noise which echoed in the distance. "But," exclaimed
De Guiche, "what is Buckingham's motive for providing
such a supply of lodgings?"

"Yes, yes," said De Wardes; "what reason has he?"

"A very excellent one," replied Manicamp.

"You know what it is, then?"

"I fancy I do."

"Tell us, then."

"Bend your head down toward me."

"What! can it not be said except in secrecy?"

"You shall judge of that yourself."

"Very well." De Guiche bent down.

"Love," said Manicamp.

"1 do not understand you at all."

"Say, rather, you cannot understand me yet.^'

"Explain yourself."

"Very well; it is quite certain, count, that his royal high-
ness will be the most unfortunate of husbands."

"What do you mean?"

"The Duke of Buckingham " ^

"It is a name of ill-omen to princes of the house of
France."

"And so the duke is madly in love with madame, so the
rumor runs, and will have no one apj)roach near her but
himself."

De Guiche colored. "Thank you, thank you," said he
to Manicamp, grasping his hand. Then, recovering him-
self, added: "Whatever you do, Manicamp, be careful that
this project of Buckingham is not made known to any
Frenchman here; for, if so, swords will be unsheathed in
this country which do not fear the English steel."

"But after all," said Manicamp, "I have had no satis-
factory proof given me of the love in question, and it may
be no more than a mere idle tale."

"No, no," said De Guiche; "it must be the truth;" and
despite his command over himself he clinched his teeth.

"Well," said Manicamp, "after all, what does it matter
to you? What does it matter to me whether the prince is
to be what the late king was? Buckingham the father for
the queen, Buckingham the son for the young princess,"
"Manicamp! Manicamp!"
"It is a fact, or at least, everybody says so."

TEN YEARd LATEE. 51

"Silence!" said the count.

''But Avhy silence?" said De Wardes; "it is a highly
creditable circumstance for the French nation. Are not
you of my opinion. Monsieur de Bragelonne?"

"To what circumstance do you allude?" inquired De
Bragelonne, with an abstracted air.

"That the English should render homage to the beauty
of our queens and our princesses."

"Forgive me, but I have not been paying attention to
what has passed; will you oblige me by explaining?"

"There is no doubt it was necessary that Buckingham the
father should come to Paris in order that his majesty King
Louis XIII. should perceive that his wife was one of the
most beautiful women of the French court; and it seems
necessary, at the present time, that Buckingham the son
should consecrate, by the devotion of his worship, the
beauty of a princess who has French blood in her veins.
The fact of having inspired a passion on the other side of
the Channel will henceforth confer a title to beauty on its
object."

"Sir," replied De Bragelonne, "I do not like to hear
such matters treated so lightly. Gentlemen as we are
should be careful guardians of the honor of our queens and
our princesses. If we jest at them what will our servants
do?"

"How am I to understand that?" said De Wardes, whose
ears tingled at the remark.

"In any way you choose, monsieur," replied De Brage-
lonne coldly.

"Bragelonne, Bragelonne!" murmured De Guiche.

"Monsieur de Wardes," exclaimed Manicamp, noticing
that the young man had spurred his horse close to the side
of Eaoul.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said De Guiche, "do not set
such an example in public, in the street, too. De Wardes,
you are wrong."

"Wrong? In what way, may I ask you?"

"You are wrong, monsieur, because you are always speak-
ing ill of some one or something," replied Kaoul, with
undisturbed composure.

"Be indulgent, Raoul," said De Guiche, in an undertone.

"Pray do not think of fighting, gentlemen," said Mani-
camp, "before you have rested yourselves; for in that case
you will not be able to do much."

"Come," said De Guiche, "forward, gentlemen!" and.

52 TEN YEAES LATER.

breaking through the horses and attendants, he cleared the
way for himself toward the center oi the square, through
the crowd, followed by the whole cavalcade. A large gate-
way looking out upon a courtyard was open; Guiche entered
the courtyard, and Brageloune, De Wardes, Manicamp, and
three or four other gentlemen, followed him. A sort of
council of war was held, and the means to be employed for
saving the dignity of the embassy were deliberated upon.
Bragelonne was of opinion that the right of priority should
be respected, while De Wardes suggested that the town
should be sacked. This latter proposition aj)peared to
Manicamp rather rash, he proposing, instead, that they
should first rest themselves. This was the wisest thing to
do, but, unhappily, to follow his advice two things only
were wanting, namely, a house and beds. De Guiche re-
flected for awhile, and then said, aloud:

"Let him who loves me follow me!"

"The attendants also?" inquired a page who had ap-
proached the group.

"Every one," exclaimed the impetuous young man.
"Manicamp, show us the way to the house destined for her-
royal highness' residence."

Without in any way divining the count's project his
friends followed him, accompanied by a crowd of people,
whose acclamations and delight seemed a happy omen for
the success of the project with which they were yet unac-
quainted. The wind was blowing loudly from the harbor,
and moaning in fitful gusts.

CHAPTEK IX.

AT SEA.

The following day was somewhat calmer, although the
wind still continued to blow. The sun had, however, risen
through a bank of reddened clouds, tingeiug with its crim-
son rays the crests of the black waves. Watch was im-
patiently kept from the different lookouts. Toward eleven
o'clock in the morning a ship, with sails full set, was
signaled as in view; two others followed at the distance of
about half a knot. They approached like arrows shot from
the bow of a skillful archer; and yet the sea ran so high
that their speed was as nothing compared to the rolling of
the billows in which the vessels were plunging first in one

TEN YEARS LATER. 53

direction and then in another. The English fleet was soon
recognized by the lines of the ships, and by the color of
their pennants; the one which had the princess on board
and carried the admiral's flag preceded the others.

The rumor now spead that the princess was arriving.
The whole French court ran to the harbor, while the quays
and jetties were soon covered by crowds of people. Two
hours afterward the other vessels had overtaken the flag-
ship, and the throe, not venturing perhaps to enter the nar-
row entrance of the harbor, cast anchor between Havre and
La Heve. When the maneuver had been completed the
vessel Avhich bore the admiral saluted France by twelve dis-
charges of cannon, which were returned, discharge for dis-
charge, from Fort Francis I. Immediately afterward a
hundred boats were launched — they were covered with the
richest stuffs, and destined for the conveyance of the differ-
ent members of the French nobility toward the vessels at
anchor. But when it was observed that even inside the
harbor the boats were tossed to and fro, and that beyond
the jetty the waves rose mountains high, dashing upon the
shore with a terrible uproar, it will readily be believed that
not one of those frail boats would be able with safety to
reach a fourth part of the distance between the shore and
the vessels at anchor. A pilot-boat, however, notwith-
standing the wind and the sea, was getting ready to leave
the harbor for the purpose of placing itself at the admiral's
orders.

De Guiche, who had been looking among the different
boats for one stronger than the others, which might offer a
chance of reaching the English vessels, perceiving the pilot-
boat getting ready to start, said to Eaoul:

"Do you not think, Eaoul, that intelligent and vigorous
men, as we are, ought to be ashamed to retreat before the
brute strength of wind and waves?"

"That is precisely the very reflection I was silently mak-
ing to myself," replied Bragelonne.

"Shall we get into that boat, then, and push off? Will
you come, De Wardes?"

"Take care, or you will get drowned," said Manicamp.

"Ani for no purpose," said De Wardes, "for, with the
wind dead against you, as it will be, you will never reach
the vessels."

"You refuse, then?"

"Assuredly I do; I would willingly risk and lose my life
in an encounter against men," he said, glancing at Brage-

54 TEN TEAES LATER.

lonne, "but as to fighting with oars against waves, I have
no taste for that!"

"And for myself," said Manicamp, "even were I to suc-
ceed in reaching the ships, I should not be indifferent to
the loss of the only good dress which I have left — salt-water
would splash and spoil it."

"You, then, refuse also?" exclaimed De Guiche.

"Decidedly I do; I beg you to understand that most
distinctly."

"But," exclaimed De Guiche, look, De Wardes — look,
Manicamp — look yonder, the princesses are looking at us
from the poop of the admiral's vessel."

"An additional reason, my dear fellow, why we should
not make ourselves ridiculous by taking a bath while they
are looking on."

"Is that your last word, Manicamp?"

"Yes."

"And then yours, De Wardes?"

"Yes."

"Then I go alone."

"Not so," said Raoul, "for I shall accompany you; I
thought it was understood we should do so."

The fact is, that Eaoul, uninfluenced by any devotion,
measuring the risk they would run, saw how imminent the
danger was, but he willingly allowed himself to accept a
peril which De Wardes had declined.

The boat was about to set off when De Guiche called to
the pilot.

"Stay," said he; "we want two places in your boat;"
and wrapping five or six pistoles in paper, he threw them
from the quay into the boat.

"It seems you are not afraid of salt-water, young gentle-
men."

"We are afraid of nothing," replied De Guiche.

"Come along, then."

The pilot approached the side of the boat, and the two
young men. one after the other, with equal vivacity, jumped
into the boat.

"Courage, my men," said De Guiche; "I have twenty
pistoles left in this purse, and as soon as we reach the
admiral's vessel they shall be yours."

The sailors bent themselves to their oars, and the boat
bounded over the crest of the w£Cves. The interest taken
in this hazardous expedition was universal; the whole popu-
lation of Havre hurried toward the jetties, and every look

TEN YEARS LATER. 55

was directed toward the little bark; at one moment it re-
mained suspended upon the crest of the foaming waves,
then suddenly glided downward toward the bottom of a
roaring abyss, where it seemed utterly lost within it. At
the expiration of an hour's struggling with the waves it
reached the spot where the admiral's vessel was anchored,
and from the side of which two boats had already been dis-
patched toward their aid. Upon the quarter-deck of the
flag-ship, sheltered by a canopy of velvet and ermine, which
v/as suspended by stout supports, Mme. Henrietta, the
queen dowager, and the young princess — with the admiral,
the Duke of Norfolk, standing beside them — watched with
alarm this slender bark, at one moment carried to the
heavens, and the next buried beneath the waves, and
against whose dark sail the noble figures of the two French
noblemen stood forth in relief like two luminous appari-
tions. The crew, leaning against the bulwarks, and cling-
ing to the shrouds, cheered the courage of the two daring
young men, the skill of the pilot, and the strength of the
sailors. They were received at the side of the vessel by a
shout of triumph. The Duke of Norfolk, a handsome
young man, from twenty-six to twenty-eight years of age,
advanced to meet them. De Guiche and Bragelonne lightly
mounted the ladder on the starboard side, and, conducted
by the Duke of Norfolk, who resumed his place near them,
they approached to offer their homage to the princesses. Re-
spect, and yet more, a certain apprehension, for which he
could not account, had hitherto restrained the Comte de
Guiche from looking at madame attentively, who, however,
had observed him immediately, and had asked her mother:
"Is not that Monsieur in the boat yonder?"
Mme. Henrietta, Avho knew Monsieur better than her
daughter did, smiled at the mistake her vanity had led her
into, and had answered:

"No; it is only Monsieur de Guiche, his favorite."
The princess, at this reply, had been obliged to check an
instinctive tenderness of feeling which the courage dis-
played by the count had awakened. At the very moment
the princess had put this question to her mother, De Guiche
had, at last, summoned courage to raise his eyes toward her,
and could compare the original with the portrait he had so
lately seen. No sooner had he remarked her pale face, her
eyes so full of animation, her beautiful nut-brown hair, her
expressive lips, and her every gesture, which, while betoken-
ing her royal descent, seemed to thank and to encourage

56 TEN TEARS LATER.

him at one and the same time, than he was, for a moment,
so overcome that, had it not been for Raoul, on whose arm
he leaned, he would have fallen. His friend's amazed look,
and the encouraging gesture of the queen, restored Guiche
to his self-possession. In a few words he explained his mis-
sion, explained in what way he had become the envoy of his
royal highness; and saluted, according to their rank and
the reception they gave him, the admiral and several of the
English noblemen who were grouped around the princesses.

Eaoul was then presented, and was most graciously re-
ceived; the share that the Comte de la Fere had had in the
restoration of Charles II. was known to all; and, more than
that, it was the comte who had been charged with the nego-
tiation of the marriage, by means of which the granddaugh-
ter of Henry IV. was now returning to France. Raoul
spoke English perfectly, and constituted himself his
friend's interpreter with the young English noblemen, who
were indifferently acquainted with the French language.
At this moment a young man came forward, of extremely
handsome features, and whose dress and arms were remark-
able for their extravagance of material. He approached the
princesses, who were engaged in conversation with the Duke
of Norfolk, and, in a voice which ill concealed his impa-
tience, said:

"It is time now to disembark, your royal highness."

The younger of the princesses rose from her seat at this
remark, and was about to take the hand which the young
nobleman had extended to her, with an eagerness which
arose from a variety of motives, when the admiral advanced
between them, observing:

"A moment, if you please, my lord; it is not possible for
ladies to disembark Just now, the sea is too rough; it is
probable the wind may abate toward four o'clock, and the
lauding will not be effected, therefore, until this evening."

"Allow me to observe, my lord," said Buckingham, with
an irritation of manner which he did not seek to disguise,
"you detain these ladies, and you have no right to do so.
One of them, unhappily, now belongs to France, and you
perceive that France claims them by the voice of her em-
bassadors;" and at the same moment he indicated Eaoul
and Guiche, whom he saluted.

"I cannot suppose that these gentlemen intend to expose
the lives of their royal highnesses," replied the admiral.

"These gentlemen," retorted Buckingham, "arrived here
safely, notwithstanding the wind; allow me to believe that

TEN YEARS LATER. 67

the danger will not be greater for their royal highnesses
when the wind will be in their favor."

"These gentlemen have shown how great their courage
is," said the admiral. "You may have observed that there
was a great number of persons on shore who did not venture
to accompany them. Moreover, the desire which they had
to show their respect with the least possible delay to madame
and her illustrious mother induced them to confront the
sea, which is very tempestuous to-day, even for sailors.
Tliese gentlemen, however, whom I recommend as an ex-
ample for my officers to follow, can hardly be so for these
ladies."

Madame glanced at the Comte de Guiche, and perceived
that his face was burning with confusion. This look had
escaped Buckingham, who had eyes for nothing but watch-
ing Norfolk, of whom he was evidently very jealous, and
seemed anxious to remove the princesses from the deck of
a vessel where the admiral reigned supreme.

"In that case," returned Buckingham, "I appeal to
madame herself."

"And I, my lord," retorted the admiral, "I appeal to my
own conscience, and to my own sense of responsibility. I
have undertaken to convey madame safely and soundly to
France, and I shall keep my promise."

"Yet, sir — " continued Buckingham.

"My lord, permit me to remind you that I command
here."

"Are you aware what you are saying, my lord?" replied
Buckingham haughtily.

"Perfectly so; I therefore repeat it: I alone command
here; all yield obedience to me; the sea and the winds, the
ships and men, too."

This remark was made in a dignified and authoritative
manner. Eaoul observed its effect upon Buckingham, who
trembled from head to foot, and leaned against one of the
polos of the tent to prevent himself falling; his eyes became
suffused with blood, and the hand which he did not need
for his support wandered toward the hilt of his sword.

"My lord," said the queen, "permit me to observe that I
agree in every particular with the Duke of Norfolk; if the
heavens, instead of being clouded, as they are at the present
moment, were perfectly serene and propitious, we can afford
to bestow a few hours upon the officer who has conducted
us so successfully, and with such extreme attention, to the
French coast, where he is to take leave of us."

58 TEN TEAES LATER.

Buckingham, instead of replying, seemed to seek counsel
from the expression of madame's face. She, however, half-
concealed beneath the thick curtains of the velvet and gold
which sheltered her, had not listened to the discussion, hav-
ing been occupied in watching the Comte de Guicbe, who
was conversing with Eaoul. This was a fresh misfortune
for Buckingbam, who fancied he perceived in Mme. Henri-
etta's look a deeper feeling than that of curiosity. He with-
drew, almost tottering in his gait, and nearly stumbled
against the mainmast of the ship.

"The duke has not acquired a steady footing yet," said
the queen-mother, in French, "and that may possibly be his
reason for wishing to find himself on firm land again."

The young man overheard this remark, turned suddenly
pale, and, letting his hands fall in great discouragement by
his side, drew aside, mingling in one sigh his old affection and
his new hatreds. The admiral, however, without taking any
further notice of the duke's ill-humor, led the princesses into
the quarter-deck cabin, where dinner had been served with a
magnificence worthy in every respect of his guests. The
admiral seated himself at the right hand of the princess,
and placed the Comte de Guiche on her left. This was the
place Buckingham usually occupied; and when he entered
the cabin, how profound was his unhappiness to see himself
banished by etiquette from the presence of the sovereign to
whom he owed respect, to a position inferior to that which,
by his rank, he was entitled to occupy. De Guiche, on the
other hand, paler still, perhaps from happiness, than his
rival was from anger, seated himself tremblingly next the
princess, whose silken robe, as it lightly touched him,
caused a tremor of mingled regret and happiness to pass
through his whole frame. The repast finished, Bucking-
ham darted forward to hand Mme. Henrietta from the
table; but this time it was De Guiche's turn to give the
duke a lesson.

"Have the goodness, my lord, from this moment," said
he, "not to interpose between her royal highness and my-
self. From this moment, indeed, her royal highness be-
longs to France, and when her royal highness honors me by
touching my hand, it is the hand of His Eoyal Highness
Monsieur, the brother of the King of France, that she
touches."

And saying this, he presented his hand to Mme. Henri-
etta with so marked a timidity, and, at the same time, with
a nobleness of mien so intrepid, that a murmur of admira-

TEN" YEARS LATER. 59

tion rose from the English, while a groan of despair escaped
from Buckingha'm's lips. Kaoul, who loved, comprehended
it all. He fixed upon his friend one of those profound
looks which a friend or a mother can alone extend, either
as a protector or guardian, over the child or the friend
about to stray from the right path. Toward two o'clock in
the afternoon the sun shone forth, the wind subsided, the
sea became smooth as a crystal mirror, and the fog, which
had shrouded the coast, disappeared like a veil withdrawn
from before it. The smiling hills of France then appeared
to the view, with their numerous white houses, rendered
more conspicuous by the bright green of the trees or the
clear blue sky.

CHAPTER X.

THE TENTS.

The admiral, as has been seen, had determined to pay
no further attention to Buckingham's threatening glances
and fits of passion. In fact, from the moment they had left
England, he had gradually and quietly accustomed himself
to it. De Guiche had not yet in any way remarked the
animosity which appeared to influence that young nobleman
against him, but he felt instinctively that there could be no
sympathy between himself and the favorite of Charles II.
The queen-mother, with greater experience and calmer
judgment, perceived the exact position of affairs, and, as
she discerned its danger, was prepared to meet it, whenever
the proper moment should arrive. Quiet had been every-
where restored, except in Buckingham's heart; he, in his
impatience, addressed himself to the princess, in a low tone
of voice:

"For heaven's sake, madame, I implore you to hasten
your disembarkation. Do you not perceive how that inso-
lent Duke of Norfolk is killing me with his attentions and
devotions to you?"

Henrietta heard this remark; she smiled, and without
turning her head toward him, but giving only to the tone
of her voice that inflection of gentle reproach and languid
impertinence which coquetry so well knows how to assume,
she murmured:

"I have already told you, my lord, that you must have
taken leave of your senses. '^

60 TEN YEAKS LATER.

Not a single detail escaped Eaoul's attention; he had
heard both Buckingham's entreaty and the princess" reply,
he had remarked Buckingham retire, had heard his deep
sigh, and saw him pass his hand across his face. He under-
stood everything, and trembled as he reflected on the posi-
tion of affairs, and the state of the minds of those about
him. At last the admiral, with studied delay, gave the last
directions for the departure of the boats. Buckingham
heard the directions given with such an exhibition of de-
light that a stranger would almost have imagined the
young man's reason was affected. As the Duke of Norfolk
gave his orders, a large boat or barge, decked with flags,
and capable of holding about twenty rowers and fifteen pas-
sengers, was slowly lowered from the side of the admiral's
vessel. The barge was carpeted with velvet and decorated
with coverings embroidered with the arms of Englajid, and
with garlands of flowers; for, at that time, signs and par-
ables were cultivated freely enough. No sooner was the
boat afloat, and the rowers, with oars uplifted, awaiting,
like soldiers presenting arms, the embarkation of the
princess, than Buckingham ran forward to the ladder in
order to take his place in the boat. His progress was, how-
ever, arrested by the queen.

"My lord," she said, "it is hardly becoming that you
should allow my daughter and myself to laud without hav-
ing previously ascertained that our apartments are properly
prepared. I beg your lordship to be good enough to pre-
cede us ashore, and to give directions that everything be in
proper order on our arrival."

This was a fresh disappointment for the duke, and still
more so since it was so unexpected. He hesitated, colored
violently, but could not reply. He had thought he might
be able to keep near madame during the passage to the
shore, and, by this means, to enjoy to the very last moment
the brief period which fortune still reserved for him. The
order, however, was explicit; and the admiral, who heard it
given, immediately called out:

"Launch the ship's gig!"

His directions were executed with that celerity which
distinguishes every maneuver on board a man-of-war.

Buckingham, in utter helplessness, cast a look of despair
at the princess, of supplication toward the queen, and di-
rected a glance full of anger toward the admiral. The
princess pretended not to notice him, while the queen
turned aside her head, and the admiral laughed outright.

TElSr YEARS LATEK. 61

at the sound of which Buckingham seemed ready to spring
upon him. The queen-mother rose, and with a tone of
authority, said:

"Pray set off, sir."

The young duke hesitated, looked around him, and with
a last effort, half-choked by contending emotions, said:

"And you, gentlemen, Monsieur de Guiche and Monsieur
de Bragelonne, do not you accompany me?"

De Guiche bowed and said:

"Both Monsieur de Bragelonne and myself await her
majesty's orders; whatever may be the commands she im-
poses on us, we shall obey them."

Saying this, he looked toward the princess, who cast down
her eyes.

"Your grace will remember," said the queen, "that
Monsieur de Guiche is here to represent Monsieur; it is he
who will do the honors of France, as you have done those of
England; his presence cannot be dispensed with; besides,
we owe him this slight favor for the courage he displayed
in venturing to seek us in such terrible weather."

Buckingham opened his lips, as if he were about to speak,
but, whether thoughts or expressions failed him, not a syl-
lable escaped them, and turning away, as though he were
out of his mind, he leaped from the vessel into the boat.
The sailors were just in time to catch hold of him to steady
themselves; for his weight and the rebound had almost
upset the boat.

"His grace cannot be in his senses," said the admiral,
aloud, to Eaoul.

"I am uneasy on his grace's account," replied Brage-
lonne.

AVhile the boat was advancing toward the shore the
duke kept his eyes immovably fixed upon the admiral's
ship, like a miser torn away from his coffers, or like a
mother separated from her child, about to be led away to
death. No one, however, acknowledged his signals, his
gesticulations, or his pitiful gestures. In very anguish of
mind he sank down in the boat, burying his hands in his
hair, while the boat, impelled by the exertions of the
thoughtless sailors, flew over the waves. On his arrival he
was in such a state of apathy that, had he not been received
at the harbor by the messenger whom he had directed to
precede him, he would hardly have been able to ask his
way. Having once, however, reached the house which had
been set apart for him, he shut himself up, like Achilles in

62 TEN TEARS LATER.

his tent. The barge bearing the princesses quitted the ad-
miral's vessel at the very moment Buckingham had landed.
It was followed by another boat filled with oflBcers, courtiers,
and zealous friends. Great numbers of the inhabitants of
Havre, having embarked in fishing-boats and boats of every
description, set ofl: to meet the royal barge. The cannon
from the forts fired salutes, which were returned by the
flag-ship and the two other vessels, and the flashes from the
open mouths of the cannon floated in white vapors over the
waves, and then disaj)peared in the clear blue sky.

The princess landed at the steps of the quay. Bands of
gay music greeted her arrival, and accompanied her every
step she took. During the time she was passing through
the center of the town, and treading beneath her delicate
feet the richest carpets and the gayest flowers, which had
been strewn upon the ground, De Guiche and Raoul, escap-
ing from their English friends, hurried through the town
and hastened rapidly toward the place intended for the
residence of madame.

"Let us hurry forward," said Eaoulto De Guiche, "for, if
I read Buckingham's character aright, he will create some
disturbance when he learns the result of our deliberations
yesterday."

"Never fear," said De Guiche, "De "Wardes is there, who
is determination itself, while Manicamp is the very personi-
fication of gentleness."

De Guiche was not, however, the less diligent on that ac-
count, and five minutes afterward they were in sight of the
Hotel de Ville. The first thing which struck them was the
number of people assembled in front of the square.

"Excellent!" said De Guiche; "our apartments, I see, are
prepared."

In fact, in front of the Hotel de Ville, upon the wide open
space before it, eight tents had been raised, surmounted by
the flags of France and England united. The hotel was
surrounded by tents, as by a girdle of variegated colors; ten
pages and a dozen mounted troopers, who had been given
to the embassadors for an escort, mounted guard before the
tents. It had a singularly curious effect, almost fairy-like
in its appearance. These tents had been constructed dur-
ing the night-time. Fitted up, within and without, with
the richest materials that De Guiche had been able to pro-
cure in Havre, they completely encircled the Hotel de Ville.
The only jDassage which led to the steps of the hotel, and
which was not inclosed by the silken barricade, was guarded

TEN YEARS LATER. 63

by two tents, resembling two pavilions, the doorways of
both of which opened toward the entrance. These two
tents were destined for De Guiche and Eaoul; in whose ab-
sence they were intended to be occupied, that of De Guiche
by De Wardes, and that of Eaoul by Manicamp. Surround-
ing these two tents and the six others, a hundred officers,
gentlemen, and pages, dazzling in their display of silk and
gold, thronged like bees around a hive. Every one of them,
their swords by their sides, was ready to obey the slightest
sign either of De Guiche or Bragelonne, the two leaders of
the embassy.

At the very moment the two young men appeared at the
end of one of the streets leading to the square they per-
ceived, crossing the square at full gallop, a young man on
horseback, and whose costume was of surprising richness.
He pushed hastily through the crowd of curious lookers-on,
and, at the sight of these unexpected erections, uttered a
cry of anger and dismay. It was Buckingham, who had
awakened from his stupor, in order to adorn himself with a
costume perfectly dazzling from its beauty, and to await
the arrival of the princess and the queen-mother at the
Hotel de Ville. At the entrance to the tents the soldiers
bcirred his passage, and his further progress was arrested.
Buckingham, completely infuriated, raised his whip; but
his am was seized by a couple of the officers. Of the two
guai'dians of the tent only one was there. De Wardes was
in the interior of the Hotel de Ville, engaged in attending
to the execution of some orders given by De Guiche. At
the noise made by Buckingham Manicamp, who was indo-
lently reclining upon the cushions at the doorway of one
of the two tents, rose with his usual indifference, and, per-
ceiving that the disturbance continued, made his appear-
ance from underneath the curtains.

"What is the matter?" he said, in a gentle tone of voice,
"and who is it making this disturbance?"

It so happened that at the moment he began to speak
silence had just been restored, and although his voice was
very soft and gentle in its tone, every one heard his qiies-
tion. Buckingham turned round and looked at the tall,
thin figure, and the listless expression of countenance of his
questioner. Probably the personal appearance of Mani-
camp, who was dressed very plainly, did not inspire him
with much respect, for he replied disdainfully:

"Who may you be, monsieur?"

Manicamp, leaning on the arm of a gigantic trooper, as

64 TEN" YEAES LATEE.

firm as the pillar of a cathedral, replied, in his usual tran-
quil tone of voice:

""And you, monsieur?"

"I, monsieur, am His Grace the Duke of Buckingham; I
have hired all the houses which surround the Hotel de
Ville, where I have business to transact; and as these
houses are let, they belong to me, and as 1 hired them in
order to preserve the right of free access to the Hotel de
Ville, you are not justified in preventing me passing to it."

"But who prevents you passing, monsieur?" inquired
Manicamp.

"Your sentinels."

"Because you wish to pass on horseback, and orders have
been given to let only persons on foot pass."

"No one has any right to give orders here, except my-
self," said Buckingham.

"On what grounds?" inquired Manicamp, with his soft
tone. "Will you do me the favor to explain this enigma to
me?"

"Because, as I have already told you, I have hired all the
houses looking on the square."

"We are very -well aware of that, since nothing but the
square itself has been left for us."

"You are mistaken, monsieur; the square belongs to me,
as well as the houses in it."

"Forgive me, monsieur, but you are mistaken there. In
our country, we say the highway belongs to the king, there-
fore this square is his majesty's; and, consequently, as we
are the king's ambassadors, the square belongs to us."

"I have already asked you who you are, monsieur," ex-
claimed Buckingham, exasperated at the coolness of his
interlocutor.

"My name is Manicamp," replied the young man, in a
voice whose tones were as harmonious and sweet as the notes
of an ^olian harp.

Buckingham shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and
said:

"When I hired these houses which surround the H6tel de
Ville the square was unoccupied; these barracks obstruct
my sight; let them be removed."

A hoarse and angry murmur ran through the crowd of
listeners at these words. De Guiche arrived at this mo-
ment; he pushed through the crowd which separated him
from Buckingham, and, followed by Eaoul, arrived on the
scene of action from one side just as De Wardes arrived
from the other.

TEN YEAKS LATER. 65

"Pardon me, my lord; but if you have any complaint to
make have the goodness to address it to me, inasmuch as
it was I who sujjplied the plans for the construction of
these tents."

"Moreover, I would beg you to observe, monsieur, that the
term 'barrack' is objected to," added Manicamp graciousiy.

"You were saying, monsieur — " continued De Guiche.

"I was saying. Monsieur le Comte," resumed Bucking-
ham, in a tone of anger more marked than ever, although
in some measure moderated by the presence of an equal, "I
was saying that it is impossible these tents can remain where
they are."

"Impossible!" exclaimed De Guiche, "and for what rea-

son

V"

"Because I object to them."

A movement of impatience escaped De Guiche, but a
warning glance from Raoul restrained him.

"You should the less object to them, monsieur, on ac-
count of the abuse of priority you have permitted yourself
to exercise."

"Abuse!"

"Most assuredly. You commission a messenger, who
hires in your name the whole of the town of Havre, without
considering the members of the French court, who would
be sure to arrive here to meet madame. Your grace will
admit that this is hardly friendly conduct in the representa-
tive of a friendly nation."

"The right of possession belongs to him who is first on
the spot."

"Not in France, monsieur."

"Why not in France?"

"Because France is a country where politeness is ob-
served."

"Which means?" exclaimed Buckingham, in so violent a
manner that those who were present drew back, expecting
an immediate collision.

"Which means, monsieur," replied De Guiche, turning
pale, "that I have caused these tents to be raised as habita-
tions for myself and my friends, as a shelter for the ambas-
sadors of France, as the only place of refuge which your
exactions have left us in the town; and that I, and those
who are with me, shall remain in them, at least until an
authority more powerful, and particularly more supreme,
than your own shall dismiss me from them."

"In other words, until we are ejected, as the lawyers
say," observed Manicamp blandly.

66 TEN TEARS LATER.

"I know an authority, monsieur, which I trust will be
such as you wish for," said Buckingham, placing his hand
on his sword.

At this moment, and as the goddess of Discord, inflaming
all minds, was about to direct their swords against each
other, Kaoul gently placed his hand on Buckingham's
shoulder.

"One word, my lord," he said.

"My right, my right, first of all!" exclaimed the fiery
young man.

"It is precisely upon that point I wish to have the honor
of addressing a word to you."

"Very well, monsieur; but let your remarks be brief."

"One question is all I ask; you can hardly expect me to
be briefer."

"Speak, monsieur; I am listening."

"Are you, or is the Duke of Orleans, going to marry the
granddaughter of Henry IV.?"

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Buckingham, retreat-
ing a few steps, quite bewildered.

"Have the goodness to answer me," persisted Raoul
tranquilly.

"Do you mean to ridicule me, monsieur?" inquired Buck-
ingham.

"Your question is a sufficient answer for me. You ad-
mit, then, that it is not you who are going to marry the
princess?"

"Y"ou know it perfectly well, monsieur, I should imagine."

"I beg your pardon, but your conduct has been such as
to leave it not altogether certain."

"Proceed, monsieur; what do you mean to convey?"

Eaoul approached the duke.

"Are you aware, my lord," he said, lowering his voice,
"that your extravagances very much resemble the excesses
of Jealousy? These jealous fits, with respect to any woman,
are not becoming in one who is neither her lover nor her
husband; and I am sure you will admit that my remark ap-
plies with still greater force when the lady in question is a
princess of royal blood."

"Monsieur," exclaimed Buckingham, "do you mean to
insult Madame Henrietta?"

"Be careful, my lord," replied Bragelonne coldly, "for
it is you v/ho insult her. A little while since, when on
board the admiral's ship, you wearied the queen and ex-
hausted the admiral's patience. I was observing, my lord;

TEN YEAKS LATER. 67

and at first I concluded you were not in possession of your
senses, but I have since surmised the real character of your
madness."

"Monsieur!^' exclaimed Buckingham.

"One moment more, for I have yet another word to add.
I trust I am the only one of my companions who has guessed
it."

"Are you aware, monsieur," said Buckingham, trembling
with mingled feelings of anger and uneasiness, "are you
aware that you are holding a language toward me which
requires to be checked?"

"Weigh your words well, my lord," said Raoul haugh-
tily; "my nature is not such that its vivacities need check-
ing; while you, on the contrary, are descended from a race
whose passions are suspected by all true Frenchmen; I
repeat, therefore, for the second time, be careful."

"Careful of what, may I ask? Do you presume to
threaten me?"

"I am the son of the Comte de la Fere, my lord, and I
never threaten, because I strike first. Therefore, under-
stand me well, the threat that I hold out to you is this "

Buckingham clinched his hands, but Raoul continued, as
though he had not observed the movement.

"At the very first word, beyond the respect and defer-
ence due to her royal highness, which you permit yourself
to use toward her — Be patient, my lord, for I am per-
fectly so."

"You?"

"Undoubtedly. So long asmadame remained on English
territory, I held my peace; but from the very moment she
stepped on French ground, and now that we have received
her in the name of the prince, I warn you that at the first
mark of disrespect which you, in your insane attachment,
shall exhibit toward the royal house of France, I shall have
one of two courses to follow: either I declare, in the pres-
ence of every one, the madness with which you are now
affected, and I get you ignominiously dismissed to England;
or, if you prefer it, I will run my dagger through your
throat in the presence of all here. This second alternative
seems to me the least disagreeable, and I think I shall hold
to it."

Buckingham had become paler than the lace collar around
his neck.

"Monsieur de Bragelonne," he said, "is it, indeed, a
gentleman who is speaking to me?"

68 TEN TEARS LATER.

"Yes; only the gentleman is speaking to a madman.
Get cured, my lord, and he will hold quite another language
to you."

"But, Monsieur de Bragelonne," murmured the duke, in
a voice half-choked, and putting his hand to his neck, "do
you not see I am dying?"

"If your death were to take place at this moment, my
lord," replied Eaoul, with unruffled composure, "I should
indeed regard it as a great happiness, for this circum-
stance would prevent all kinds of evil remarks; not alone
about yourself, but also about those illustrious persons whom
your devotion is compromising in so absurd a manner."

"You are right, you are right," said the young man,
almost beside himself. "Yes, yes; better to die than to
suSer as I do at this moment."

And he grasped a beautiful dagger, the handle of which
was inlaid with precious stones, and which he half drew
from his breast.

Eaoul thrust his hand aside.

"Be careful what you do," he said; "if you do not kill
yourself, you commit a ridiculous action; and if you were
to kill yourself, you sprinkle blood upon the nuptial robe of
the Princess of England."

Buckingham remained a minute gasping for breath; dur-
ing this interval his lips quivered^ his fingers worked con-
vulsively; and his eyes wandered as though in delirium.
Then suddenly he said:

"Monsieur d-e Bragelonne, I know nowhere a nobler mind
than yours; you are, indeed, a worthy son of the most per-
fect gentleman that ever lived. Keep your tents."

And he threw his arms round Raoul's neck. All who
were present, astounded at this conduct, which was such as
they could hardly have expected considering the violence
of the one adversary and the determination of the other,
began immediately to clap their hands, and a thousand
cheers and joyful shouts arose from all sides. De Guiche,
in his turn, embraced Buckingham, somewhat against his
inclination; but, at all events, he did embrace him. This
was the signal for French and English to do the same; and
they who, until that moment, had looked at each other with
restless uncertainty, fraternized on the spot. In the mean-
time, the procession of the princess arrived, and had it not
been for Bragelonne, two armies would have been engaged
together in conflict, and blood have been shed upon the
flowers with which the ground was covered. At the appear-

TEN YEARS LATER. 69

ance, however, of the banners borne at the head of the
procession, quiet was restored.

CHAPTER XI.

NIGHT.

Concord had returned to resume its place amid the tents.
English and French rivaled each other in their devotion
and courteous attention to the two illustrious travelers.
The English forwarded to the French baskets of flowers, of
which they had made a plentiful provision to greet the ar-
rival of the young jDrincess; the French in return invited
the English to a supper, which was to be given the next
day. Congratulations were poured in upon the princess
everywhere during her journey. From the respect paid her
on all sides, she seemed like a queen; and from the adora-
tion with which she was treated by some two or three, she
seemed like an object of worship. The queen-mother gave
the French the most affectionate reception. France was
her native country, and she had suffered too much unhap-
piness in England for England to have made her forget
France. She taught her daughter, then, by her own affec-
tion for it, that love for a country where they had both been
hospitably received, and where a brilliant future was being
opened before them. After the public entry was over, and
the spectators in the streets had somewhat dispersed, and the
sound of the music and cheering of the crowd could be heard
only in the distance, when the night had closed in, Avrap-
ping, with its star-covered mantle, the sea, the harbor, the
town, and surrounding country, De Guiche, still excited by
the great event of the day, returned to his tent and seated
himself upon one of the stools with so profound an expres-
sion of distress that Bragelonne kept his eyes fixed on him
until he heard him sigh, and then he approached him. The
count had thrown himself back on his seat, leaning his
shoulders against the partition of the tent, and remained
thus, his face buried in his hands, and with heaving chest
and restless limbs.

"You are suffering?" asked Raoul.

"Cruelly."

"Bodily, I suppose?'^

"Yes, bodily."

"This has, indeed, been a harassing day," continued the
young man, his eyes fixed upon his friend.

70 TEN" TEARS LATEB.

'*Yes; a night's rest will restore me."

"Shall I leave yoiT?"

"No; I wish to talk to you."

"You shall not speak to me, Guiche, until you have first
answered me my questions/'

"Proceed, then."

"You will be frank with me?"

"As I always am."

"Can you imagine why Buckingham has been so violent?"

"I suspect why."

"Because he is in love with madame, is it not?"

"One could almost swear to it, to see him."

"You are mistaken; there is nothing of the kind."

"It is you who are mistaken, Eaoul; I have read his dis-
tress in his eyes, in his every gesture and action the whole
day."

"You are a poet, my dear count, and find subjects for
your muse everywhere."

"I can perceive love clearly enough."

"Where it does not exist?"

"Nay, where it does exist."

"Do you not think you are deceiving yourself, Guiche?"

"I am convinced of what I say," said the count.

"Now, inform me, count," said Raoul, fixing a penetrat-
ing look upon him, "what has^ happened to render you so
• clear-sighted?"

Guiche hesitated for a moment, and then answered:

"Self-love, I suppose."

"Self-love is a very long word, Guiche."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that, generally, you are less out of sjDirits than
seems to be the case this evening."

"I am fatigued."

"Listen to me, dear Guiche; we have been campaigners
together; we have been on horseback for eighteen hours at
a time, and our horses, even dying from fatigue, or from
sheer exhaustion, or hunger, have fallen beneath us, and
yet we have laughed at our mishaps. Believe me, it is not
fatigue which saddens you to-night."

"It is annoyance, then."

"What annoyance?"

"That of this evening."

"The mad conduct of the Duke of Buckingham, do you
mean?"

"Of course; is it not vexatious for us, the representatives

TEN YEARS LATER. 71

of our sovereign master, to witness the devotion of an Eng-
lishman to our future mistress, the second lady in point of
rank in the kingdom?"

"Yes, you're right; but I do not think any danger is to
be apprehended from Buckingham."

"No; still he is intrusive. Did he not, on his arrival
here, almost succeed in creating a disturbance between the
English and ourselves; and, had it not been for you, for
your admirable prudence, for your singular decision of
cliaracter, swords would have been drawn in the very streets
of the town."

"You observe, however, that he has changed."

"Yes, certainly; but it is that which amazes me so much.
You spoke to him in a low tone of voice; what did you say
to him? You think he loves her; you admit that such a
passion does not give way readily. He does not love her,
then!"

De Guiche pronounced the latter words with so marked
an expression that Eaoul raised his head. The noble char-
actor of the young man's countenance expressed a displeas-
ure which could easily be read.

"What I said to him, count," replied Eaoul, "I will re-
peat to you. Listen to me. I said, 'You are regarding
with wistful feelings, and with most injurious desire, the
sister of your prince — her to whom you are not affianced,
who is not, who can never be anything to you; you are out-
raging those who, like ourselves, have come to seek a young
girl to lead her to her husband.' "

"You spoke to him in that manner?" asked Guiche,
coloring.

"In those very terms; I even added more. 'How would
you regard us,' I said, 'if you were to perceive among us a
man mad enough, disloyal enough, to entertain other than
sentiments of the most perfect respect for a princess who is
the destined wife of our master?' "

These words were so applicable to De Guiche that he
turned pale, and, overcome by a sudden agitation, was
barely able to stretch out one hand mechanically toward
Eaoul, as he covered his eyes and face with the other.

"But," continued Eaoul, not interrupted by this move-
ment of his friend, "Heaven be praised, the French, who are
pronounced to be thoughtless and indiscreet, reckless even,
are capable of bringing a calm and sound judgment to bear
on matters of such high importance. I added even more,
for I said: 'Learn, my lor:l, that we gentlemen of France

72 TEN" YEAES LATER.

devote ourselves to our sovereigns by sacrificing for them
our affections, as well as our fortunes and our lives; and
whenever it may chance to happen that the tempter -suggests
one of those vile thoughts which set the heart on fire, we
extinguish that flame, even were it done by shedding our
blood for the purpose. Thus it is that the honor of three
persons is saved: our country's, our master's, and our own.
It is thus that we act, your grace; it is thus that every man
of honor ought to act.' In this manner, my dear Guiche,"
continued Kaoul, "I addressed the Duke of Buckingham;
and he admitted and resigned himself unresistingly to my
arguments."

De Guiche, who had hitherto sat leaning forward while
Eaoul was speaking, drew himself up, his eyes glancing
proudly; he seized Kaoul's hand; his face, which had been
as cold as ice, seemed on fire.

"And you spoke right well," he said, in a voice half-
choked; "you are indeed a friend, Eaoul. And now, I
entreat you, leave me to myself."

"Do you wish it?"

"Yes; I need repose. Many things have agitated me to-
day, both in mind and body; when you return to-morrow I
shall no longer be the same man."

"I leave you, then," said Eaoul, as he withdrew. The
count advanced a step toward his friend and pressed him
warmly in Ms arms. But in this friendly pressure Eaoul
could detect the nervous agitation of a great internal con-
flict.

The night was clear, starlight, and splendid; the tempest
had passed away, and the warmth of the sun had restored
life, peace, and security everywhere. A few light, fleecy
clouds were floating in the heavens, and indicated from their
appearance a continuance of beautiful weather, tempered
by a gentle breeze from the east. Upon the large square in
front of the hotel the large shadows of the tents, inter-
sected by the brillant moonbeams, formed, as it were, a
huge mosaic of black and white flag-stones. Soon, how-
ever, the whole town was wrapped in slumber; a feeble
light still glimmered in madame's apartment, which looked
out upon the square, and the soft rays from the expiring
lamp seemed to be the image of the calm sleep of a young
girl, hardly yet sensible of existence, and in whom the flame
of life sinks down as sleep steals over the body. Brage-
lonne quitted the tent with the slow and measured step of
a man curious to observe, but anxious not to be seen. Shel-

TEN" TEARS LATER. 73

terecl behind the tliick curtains of his own tent, embracing
with a glance the whole square, he noticed that, after a few
moments' pause, the curtains of De Quiche's tent were
agitated, and then drawn partially aside. Behind them he
could perceive the shadow of De Guiche, his eyes glistening
in the obscurity, fastened ardently upon the princess' sit-
ting apartment, which was partially lighted by the lamp
in the inner room. That soft light which illumined the
Avindows was the count's star. The fervent aspirations of
his nature could be read in his eyes. Raoul, concealed in
the shadow, divined the many passionate thoughts which
established, between the tent of the young ambassador and
the balcony of the princess, a mysterious and magical bond
of sympathy — a bond created by thoughts imprinted with so
much strength and persistence of will that they certainly
besought that happy and loving dreams might alight upon
the perfumed couch, which the count, with the eyes of his
soul, devoured so eagerly. But De Guiche and Raoul were
not the only watchers. The window of one of the houses
looking on the square was opened, too, the window of the
house where Buckingham resided. By the aid of the rays
of light which issued from this latter window the profile of
the duke could be distinctly seen, as he indolently reclined
upon the balcony with its velvet hangings; he &]&o was
breathing in the direction of the princess' apartment his
prayers and the wild visions of his love.

Bragelonne could not resist smiling, as, thinking of ma-
dame, he said to himself:

"Hers is, indeed, a heart well besieged;" and then added
compassionately, as he thought of Monsieur, "and he is a
husband well threatened, too; it is a good thing for him
that he is a prince of such high rank, and that he has an
army to win for him that which is his own."

Bragelonne watched for some time the conduct of the two
lovers, listened to the loud and uncivil slumbers of Maui-
camp, who snored as imperiously as though he had his blue-
and-gold, instead of his violet suit, and then turned toward
the night breeze which bore toward him, he seemed to
think, the distant song of the nightingale; and, after hav-
ing laid in a due provision of melancholy, another nocturnal
malady, he retired to rest, thinking that with regard to his
own love affair, perhaps four or six eyes, quite as ardent as
those of De Guiche and Buckingham, were coveting his
OAvn idol in the chateau at Blois.

"And Mademoiselle de Montalais is by no means a very
safe garrison," said he to himself, as he sighed aloud.
Dumas— Vol. XV.

^4: TEN YEARS LATER.

CHAPTER XII.

FROM HAVRE TO PARIS.

The next day the fetes took place, accompanied by all
the pomp and animation which the resources of the town
and the natural disposition of men's minds could supply.
During the last few hours spent in Havre every prepara-
tion for the departure had been made. After madame had
taken leave of the English fleet, and once again had
saluted the country in saluting its flags, she entered the
carriage prepared for her, surrounded by a brilliant escort.
De Guiche had hoped that the Duke of Buckingham would
accompany the admiral to England; but Buckingham suc-
ceeded in demonstrating to the queen that there would be
great improi^riety in allowing madame to proceed to Paris
almost entirely alone. As soon as it had been settled that
Buckingham was to accompany madame the young duke
selected a court of genllemen and officers to form part of
his own suite, so th; t it was almost an army which pro-
ceeded toward Paris, scattering gold, and exciting the live-
liest demonstrations as they passed through the different
towns and villages on the route. The weather was very
fine. France is a beautiful country, especially along the
route by which the procession passed. Spring cast its flow-
ers and its perfumed foliage upon their path. Normandy,
with its vast variety of vegetation, its blue skies and silver
rivers, displayed itself in all the loveliness of a paradise for
the new sister of the king. Fetes and brilliant displays re-
ceived them everywhere along the line of march. De
Guiche and Buckingham forgot everything; De Guiche, in
his anxiety to prevent any fresh attempts on the part of
the duke, and Buckingham, in his desire to awaken in the
heart of the princess a softer remembrance of the country,
to which the recollection of many happy days belonged.
But, alas! the poor duke could perceive that the image of
that country so cherished by himself became, from day to
day, more and more effaced in madame's mind, in exact pro-
portion as her affection for France became more deeply
engraved on her heart. In fact, it was not difficult to per-
ceive that his most devoted attention awakened no acknowl-
edgment, and that the grace with which he rode one of his
most fiery horses was thrown away, for it was only casually
and by the merest accident that the princess' eyes were
turned toward him. In vain did he try, in order to fix

TEN^ TEARS LATER. 75

upon himself one of those looks, which were thrown care-
lessly around, or bestowed elsewhere, to produce from the
animal he rode its greatest display of strength, speed, tem-
per, and address; in vain did he, by exciting his horse
almost to madness, spur him, at the risk of dashing himself
in pieces against the trees or of rolling in the ditches, over
the gates and barriers which they passed, or down the steejD
declivities of the hills. Madame, whose attention had been
aroused by the noise, turned her head for a moment to ob-
serve the cause of it, and then, slightly smiling, again
turned round to her faithful guardians, Eaoul and De
(xuiche, who were quietly riding at her carriage doors.
Buckingham felt himself a prey to all the tortures of
jealousy; an unknown, unheard-of anguish glided into his
veins and laid siege to his heart; and then, as if to show
that he knew the folly of his conduct, and that he wished
to correct, by the humblest submission, his flights of ab-
surdity, he mastered his horse, and compelled him, reeking
with sweat and flecked with foam, to champ his bit close
beside the carriage, amid the crowd of courtiers. Occa-
sionally he obtained a word from madame as a recompense,
and yet this word seemed almost a reproach to him.

"That is well, my lord," she said; "now you are reasona-
ble."

Or, from Eaoul:

"Your grace is killing your horse."

Buckingham listened patiently to Eaoul's remarks, for
he instinctively felt, without having had any proof that
such was the case, that Eaoul checked the display of De
Guiche's feelings, and that, had it not been for Eaoul, some
mad act or proceeding, either of the count or of Bucking-
ham himself, would have brought about an open rupture
or a disturbance, and jierhaps even exile itself. From the
moment of that excited conversation which the two young
men had had in front of the tents at Havre, when Eaoul
had made the duke jjerceive the impropriety of his conduct,
Buckingham had felt himself attracted toward Eaoul almost
in spite of himself. He often entered into conversation
with him, and it was nearly always to talk to him either of
his father or of D'Artagnan, their mutual friend, in whose
praise Buckingham Avas nearly as enthusiastic as Eaoul.
Eaoul endeavored, as much as possible, to make the conver-
sation turn upon this subject in De Wardes' presence, who
had, during the whole journey, been exceedingly annoyed
at the superior position taken by Bragelonne, and especially

76 TEN YEARS LATER.

by his influence over De Guiche. De Wardes had that
keen and observant penetration which all evil natures pos-
sess; he had immediately remarked De Guiche's melancholy,
and the nature of his regard for the princess. Instead,
however, of treating the subject with the same reserve
which Eaoul had practiced; instead of regarding with that
respect, which was their due, the obligations and duties of
society, De Wardes resolutely attacked in the count that
ever-sounding chord of juvenile audacity and egotistical
pride. It happened one evening, during a halt at Nantes,
that while De Guiche and De Wardes were leaning against
a barrier, engaged in conversation, Buckingham and Kaoul
were also talking together as they walked up and down.
Mauicamp was engaged in devotional attentions to the prin-
cesses, who already treated him without any reserve, on
account of his versatile fancy, his frank courtesy of man-
ner, and conciliatory disposition.

"Confess," said De Wardes, "that you are really ill, and
that your pedagogue of a friend has not succeeded in cur-
ing you."

"I do not understand you," said the count.

"And yet it is easy enough; you are dying for love."

"You are mad, De Wardes."

"Madness it would be, I admit, if madame were really in-
different to your martyrdom; but she takes so much notice
of it, observes it to such an extent, that she compromises
herself, and I tremble lest, on our arrival at Paris, Monsieur
de Bragelonne may not denounce both of you."

"For shame, De Wardes, again attacking De Bragelonne!"

"Come, come! a truce to child's play," replied the
count's evil genius, in an undertone; "you know as well as
I do what I mean. Besides, you must have observed how
the princess' glance softens as she looks at you; you can
tell, by the very inflection of her voice, what pleasure she
takes in listening to you, and can feel how thoroughly she
appreciates the verses you recite to her. You cannot deny,
too, that every morning she tells you how indifferently she
slept the previous night."

"True, De Wardes, quite true; but what good is there in
your telling me all that?"

"Is it not important to know the exact position of affairs?"

"No, no; not when I am a witness of things which are
enough to drive one mad."

"Stay, stay," said De Wardes; "look, she calls you — do
you understand? Profit by the occasion, for your pedagogue
is not here."

TEN TEARS LATER. 77

De Guiche could not resist, an invincible attraction drew
him toward the princess. De Wardes smiled as he saw him
withdraw.

"You are mistaken, monsieur," said Eaoul, suddenly
stepping across the barrier against which the previous
moment the two friends had been leaning, "the pedagogue
is here, and has overheard you."

De Wardes, at the sound of Raoul's voice, which he
recognized without having occasion to look at him, half
drew his sword.

"Put up your sword," said Eaoul; "you know perfectly
well that, until our journey is at an end, every demonstra-
tion of that nature is useless. Why do you distill into the
heart of the man you term your friend all the bitterness
which infpcts your own? As regards myself, you wish to
arouse a feeling of deep dislike against a man of honor — my
father's friend, and my own; and as for the count, you wish
him to love one who is destined for your master. Eeally, mon-
sieur, I should regard you as a coward, and a traitor, too, if
I did not, with greater justice, regard you as a madman."

"Monsieur," exclaimed De Wardes, exasperated, "I was
deceived, I find, in terming you a pedagogue. The tone
you assume, and the style which is peculiarly your own, is
that of a Jesuit, and not of a gentleman. Discontinue, I
beg, v/henever I am present, this style I complain of, and
the tone also. I hate Monsieur d'Artagnan because he was
guilty of a cowardly act toward my father."

"You lie, monsieurl" said Eaoul coolly.

"You give me the lie, monsieur?" exclaimed De Wardes.

"Why not, if what you assert be untrue?"

"You give me the lie, and do not draw your sword?"

"I have resolved, monsieur, not to kill you until ma-
dame shall have been delivered up into her husband's
hands."

"Kill me? Believe me, monsieur, your schoolmaster's
rod does not kill so easily."

"No," replied Eaoul sternly; "but Monsieur d'Artag-
nan's sword kills; and not only do I possess his sword, but
he has himself taught me how to use it; and with that
sword, when a befitting time arrives, I shall avenge his
name — a name you have so dishonored."

"Take care, monsieur!" exclaimed De Wardes; "if you
do not immediately give me satisfaction I will avail myself
of every means to revenge myself."

"Indeed, monsieur," said Buckingham, suddenly appear-

78 TEN TEARS LATER.

ing upon the scene of action, "that is a threat which sounds
like assassination, and would, therefore, ill become a gen-
tleman."

"What did you say, my lord?" said De Wardes, turning
round toward him.

"I said, monsieur, that the words you have just spoken
are displeasing to my English ears."

"Very well, monsieur; if what you say is true," exclaimed
De Wardes, thoroughly incensed, "I shall at least find in
you one who will not escape me. Understand my words as
you like."

"I understand them in the manner they cannot but be
understood," replied Buckingham, with that haughty tone
which characterized him, and which, even in ordinary con-
versation, gave a tone of defiance to everything he said:
"Monsieur de Bragelonne is my friend; you insult Monsieur
de Bragelonne, and you shall give me satisfaction for that
insult."

De Wardes cast a look upon De Bragelonne, who, faith-
ful to the character he had assumed, remained calm and
unmoved, even after the duke's defiance.

"It would seem that I did not insult Monsieur de Brage-
lonne, since Monsieur de Bragelonne, who carries a sword
by his side, does not consider himself insulted."

"At all events, you insult some one."

"Yes, I insulted Monsieur d'Artagnan," resumed De
Wardes, who had observed that this was the only means of
stinging Raoul, so as to awaken his anger.

"That, then," said Buckingham, "is another matter."

"Precisely so," said De Wardes; "it is the province of
Monsieur d'Artagnan's friends to defend him."

"I am entirely of your opinion," replied the duke, who
had regained all his indifference of manner; "if Monsieur
de Bragelonne were offended, I could not reasonably be ex-
pected to espouse his quarrel, since he is himself here; but
when you say that it is a quarrel of Monsieur d'Artag-
nan "

"You will, of course, leave me to deal with the matter,"
said De Wardes.

"Nay, the very contrary, for I draw my sword," said
Buckingham, unsheathing it as he spoke; "for if Monsieur
d'Artagnan injured your father, he rendered, or, at least,
did all that he could to render, a great service to mine."

De Wardes seemed thundertsruck.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan," continued Buckingham, "is

TEN YEARS LATER. 79

the bravest gentleman I know. I shall be delighted, as I
owe him many jiersonal obligations, to settle them with
you, by crossing ray sword with yours."

At the same moment liuckingham drew his sword grace-
fully from its scabbard, saluted Raoul, and put himself on
guard.

De Wardes advanced a step to meet him.

"Stay, gentlemen," said Raoul, advancing toward them
and placing his own sword between the combatants, "the
affair is hardly worth the trouble of blood being shed almost
in the presence of the princess. Monsieur de Wardes
speaks ill of Monsieur d'Artagnan, with whom he is not
even acquainted."

"What, monsieur," said De Wardes, setting his teeth
hard together, and resting the point of his sword on the toe
of his boot, "do you assert that I do not know Monsieur
d'Artagnan?"

"Certainly not; you do not know him," replied Raoul
coldly, "and you are even not aware where he is to be
found."

"Not know where he is?"

"Such must be the case, since you fix your quarrel with
him upon strangers, instead of seeking Monsieur d'Artag-
nan where he is to be found."

De Wardes turned pale.

"Well, monsieur," continued Eaoul, "I will tell you
where Monsieur d'Artagnan is; he is now in Paris; when
on duty he is to be met with at the Louvre — when not so,
in the Rue des Lombards. Monsieur d'Artagnan can be
easily discovered at either of those two places. Having,
therefore, as you assert, so many causes of complaint against
him, you do not show your courage in not seeking him out,
to afford him an opportunity of giving you that satisfac-
tion you seem to ask of every one but of himself."

De Wardes passed his hand across his forehead, which
was covered with perspiration.

"For shame. Monsieur de Wardes! so quarrelsome a dis-
position is hardly becoming after the publication of the
edicts against duels. Pray think of that; the king will be
incensed at our disobedience, particularly at such a time;
and his majesty will be in the right."

"Mere excuses," murmured De Wardes; "mere pretexts."

"Really, my dear Monsieur de Wardes," resumed Raoul,
"such remarks are the merest idle talk; you know very well
that the Duke of Buckingham is a man of undoubted

80 TEN YEAES LATER.

courage, who has already fought ten duels, and will proba-
bly fight eleven. His name alone is significant enough. As
far as I am concerned, you are well aware that I can fight
also. I fought at Sens, at Bleneau, at the Dunes in front
of the artillery, a hundred paces in front of the line, while
you — 1 say this parenthetically — were a hundred paces be-
hind it. True it is that on that occasion there were by far
too great a concourse of persons present for your courage
to be observed, and on that account, perhaps, you did not
reveal it; while here, it would be a display, and would ex-
cite re>nark — you wish that others should talk about you,
in what manner you do not care. Do not depend upon
me, Monsieur de Wardes, to assist you in your designs, for
I shall certainly not afford you that pleasure."

"Sensibly observed," said Buckingham, putting up his
sword, "and I ask your forgiveness, Monsieur de Brage-
lonne, for having allowed myself to yield to a first impulse."

De Wardes, however, on the contrary, perfectly furious,
bounded forward and raised his sword threateningly against
Eaoul, who had scarcely time to put himself in a posture of
defense.

"Take care, monsieur," said Bragelonne tr-anquilly, "or
you will put out one of my eyes."

"You will not fight, then?" said De Wardes.

"Not at this moment; but this I promise to do, imme-
diately on our arrival at Paris; I will conduct you to Mon-
sieur d'Artagnan, to whom you shall detail all the causes of
complaint you have against him. Monsieur d'Artagnan
will solicit the king's permission to measure swords with
you. The king will yield his consent, and when you shall
have received the sword-thrust in due course, you will con-
sider, in a calmer frame of mind, the precepts of the Gospel
which enjoin forgetfulness of injuries."

"Ah!" exclai'med De Wardes, furious at this imperturba-
ble coolness, "one can clearly see you are half a bastard.
Monsieur de Bragelonne."

Eaoul became as pale as death; his eyes flashed like light-
ning, and made De Wardes fall back. Buckingham also,
who had perceived their expression, threw himself between
the two adversaries, whom he had expected to see precipi-
tate themselves on each other. De Wardes had reserved
this injury for the last; he clasped his sword tight in his
hand, and awaited the encounter.

"You are right, monsieur," said Eaoul, mastering his
emotion, "I am only acquainted with my father's name;

TEN YEARS LATER. 81

but I know too well that the Comte de la Fere is too up-
right and honorable a man to allow me to fear for a single
moment that there is, as you seem to say, any stain upon
my birth. My ignorance, therefore, of my mother's name
is a misfortune for me, and not a reproach. You are de-
ficient in loyalty of conduct; you are Avanting in courtesy
in reproaching me with misfortune. It matters little, how-
ever, the insult has been given, and I consider myself in-
sulted accordingly. It is quite understood, then, that after
you shall have received satisfaction from Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan, you will settle your quarrel with me."

"I admire your prudence, monsieur," replied De Wardes,
with a bitter smile; "a little while ago you promised me a
sword-thrust from Monsieur d'Artagnan, and now, after I
shall have received his, you offer me one from yourself."

"Do not disturb yourself," replied Eaoul, with concen-
trated anger; "in all affairs of that nature Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan is exceedingly skillful, and I will beg him as a favor
to treat you as he did your father; in other words, to spare
your life at least, so as to leave me the pleasure, after your
recovery, of killing you outright; for you have a bad heart.
Monsieur de Wardes, and in very truth, too many precau-
tions cannot be taken against you."

"I shall take my precautions against you," said De
Wardes; "be assured of it."

"Allow me, monsieur," said Buckingham, "to translate
your remark by a piece of advice I am about to give Mon-
sieur de Bragelonne; Monsieur de Bragelonne, wear a
cuirass."

De Wardes clinched his hands.

"Ah!" said he, "you two gentlemen intend to wait until
you have taken that precaution before you measure your
swords against mine."

"Very well, monsieur," said Eaoul, "since you positively
will have it so; let us settle the affair now."

And drawing his sword, he advanced toward De Wardes.

"What are you going to do?" said Buckingham.

"Be easy," said Raoul; "it will not be very long."

De Wardes placed himself on his guard; their swords
crossed. De Wardes flew upon Eaoul with such impetuosity
that at the first clashing of the steel blades Buckingham
clearly saw that Eaoul was only trifling with his adver-
sary. Buckingham stepped aside, and watched the strug-
gle. Eaoul was as calm as if he were handling a foil,
instead of a sword; having retreated a step, he parried three

83 TEN YEARS LATER.

or four fierce thrusts which De Wardes made at him, caught
the sword of the latter within his own, sending it flying
twenty paces the other side of the barrier. Then, a.s De
Wardes stood disarmed and astounded at his defeat, Eaoul
sheathed his sword, seized him by the collar and the waist-
band, and hurled him also to the other end of the barrier,
trembling and mad with rage.

"We shall meet again," murmured De Wardes, rising
from the ground and picking up his sword.

"I have done nothing for the last hour," said Eaoul,
"but say the same thing."

Then, turning toward the duke, he said:

"I entreat you to be silent about this affair; I am ashamed
to have gone so far, but my anger carried me away, and I
ask your forgiveness for it; forget it, too."

"Dear viscount," said the duke, pressing within his own
the vigorous and valiant hand of his companion, "allow me,
on the contrary, to remember it, and to look after your
safety; that man is dangerous; he will kill you."

"My father," replied Eaoul, "lived for twenty years
under the menace of a much more formidable enemy, and
he still lives."

"Your father had good friends, viscount."

"Yes," sighed Eaoul, "such friends, indeed, that none
are now left like them."

"Do not say that, I beg, at the very moment I offer you
my friendship;" and Buckingham opened his arms to em-
brace Eaoul, who delightedly received the proffered alliance.
"In my family," added Buckingham, "you are aware. Mon-
sieur de Bragelonne, that we die to save those we love."

"I know it well, duke," replied Eaoul.

CHAPTEE XIII.

AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT THE CHEVALIER DE LORRAINE
THOUGHT OF MADAME,

Nothing further interrupted the journey. Under a pre-
text which was little remarked, M. de Wardes went forward in
advance of the others. He took Manicamp with him, for his
equable and dreamy disposition acted as a counterpoise to
his own. It is a subject of remark, that quarrelsome and
restless characters invariably seek the companionship of
gentle, timorous dispositions, as if the former sought, in

TEN" YEARS LATER. 83

the contrast, a repose for their own ill-humor, and the lat-
ter a protection against their own weakness. Buckingham
and Bragelonne, admitting De Guiche into their friendship,
joined, in concert with him, the praises of the princess dur-
ing the whole of the journey. Bragelonne had, hoAvever,
insisted that their three voices should be in concert, instead
of singing in solo parts, as De Guiche and his rival seemed
to have acquired a dangerous habit of doing. This style of
harmony pleased the queen-mother exceedingly, but it was
not, perhaps, so agreeable to the young princess, who was
an incarnation of coquetry, and who, without any fear as
far as her own voice was concerned, sought opportunities of
so perilously distinguishing herself. She possessed one of
those fearless and incautious disj^ositions which find gratifi-
cation in an excess of sensitiveness of feeling, and for whom,
also, danger has a certain fascination. And so her glances,
her smiles, her toilet, an inexhaustible armory of weapons
of oifense, were showered down upon the three young men
with overwhelming force; and from her well-stored arsenal
issued glances, kindly recognitions, and a thousand other
little charming attentions which were intended to strike at
long range the gentlemen who formed the escort, the
townspeople, the officers of the different cities she passed
through, pages, populace, and servants; it was wholesale
slaughter, a general devastation. By the time madame
arrived at Paris, she had reduced to slavery about a hundred
thousand lovers, and brought in her train to Paris half a
dozen men who were almost mad about her, and two who
were quite out of their minds. Kaoul was the only person
who divined the power of this woman's attraction, and, as
his heart was already engaged, he arrived in the capital full
of indifference and distrust. Occasionally, during the
journey, he conversed with the Queen of England respect-
ing the power of fascination which madame possessed, and
the mother, whom so many misfortunes and deceptions had
taught experience, replied:

"Henrietta Avas sure to be illustrious in one way or an-
other, whether born in a palace or born in obscurity; for
she is a woman of great imagination, capricious, and self-
willed."

De Wardes and Manicamp, in their character of couriers,
had announced the princess' arrival. The procession was
met at Nanterre by a brilliant escort of cavaliers and car-
riages. It was Monsieur himself, who, followed by the
Chevalier de Lorraine and by his favorites, the latter being

84 TEN" YEAES LATER.

themselves followed by a portion of the king's military
household, had arrived to meet his aflfianced bride. At St.
Germain the princess and her mother had changed their
heavy traveling-carriage, somewhat impaired by the jour-
ney, for a light, richly decorated chariot drawn by six
horses with white-and-gold harness. Seated in this open
carriage, as though upon a throne, and beneath a parasol of
embroidered sillc, fringed with feathers, sat the young and
lovely princess, on whose beaming face were reflected the
softened rose-tints which suited her delicate skin to perfec-
tion. Monsieur, on reaching the carriage, was struck by
her beauty; he showed his admiration in so marked a man-
ner that the Chevalier de Lorraine shrugged his shoulders
as he listened to his compliments, while Buckingham and
De Guiche were almost heart-broken. After the usual
courtesies had been rendered, and the ceremony completed,
the procession slowly resumed the road to Paris. The pre-
sentations had been carelessly made, and Buckingham, with
the rest of the English gentlemen, had been introduced to
Monsieur, from whom they had received but a very indiffer-
ent attention. But, during their progress, as he observed
that the duke devoted himself with his accustomed earnest-
ness to the carriage door, he asked the Chevalier de Lor-
raine, his inseparable companion:

"Who is that cavalier?"

"He was presented to your highness a short time since;
it is the handsome Duke of Buckingham."

"Yes, yes, I remember."

"Madame's knight," added the favorite, with an inflec-
tion of the voice which envious minds can alone give to the
simplest phrases.

"What do you say?" replied the prince.

"I said 'madame's knight.' "

"Has she a recognized knight, then?"

"One would think you can judge of that for yourself;
look, only, how they are laughing and flirting. AH three
of them."

"What do you mean by all three?"

"Do you not see that De Guiche is one of the party?"

"Yes, I see. But what does that prove?"

"That madame has two admirers instead of one."

"You poison everything, viper!"

"I poison nothing. Ah! your royal highness' mind is
very perverted. The honors of the kingdom of France are
being paid to your wife, and you are not satisfied."

TEN" YEARS LATER. 85

The Dnke of Orleans dreaded the satirical humor of the
Chevalier de Lorraine whenever he found it reached a cer-
tain degree of bitterness, and he changed the conversation
abrui^tly.

"The princess is pretty," said he very negligently, as if
he were speaking of a stranger.

"Yes," replied the chevalier, in the same tone.

"You say 'yes' like a 'no.' She has very beautiful black
eyes."

"Yes, but small."

"That is so, but they are brilliant. She has a good
figure."

"Her figure is a little spoiled, my lord."

"I do not deny it. She has a noble appearance."

"Yes, but her face is thin."

"I thought her teeth beautiful."

"They can easily be seen, for her mouth is large enough.
Decidedly, I was wrong, my lord; you are certainly hand-
somer than your v/ife."

"But do you think me as handsome as Buckingham?"

"Certainly; and he thinks so, too; for, look, my lord, he
is redoubling his attentions to madame to prevent your
effacing the impression he has made."

Monsieur made a movement of impatience, but as he
noticed a smile of triumph pass across the chevalier's lips,
he drew up his horse to a foot-paee.

"Why," said he, "should I occupy myself any longer
about my cousin? Do I not already know her? Were we
not brought up together? Did I not see her at the Louvre
when she was quite a child?"

"A great change has taken place in her since then, prince.
At the period you allude to she was somewhat less brilliant,
and somewhat less proud, too. One evening, particularly,
you may remember, my lord, the king refused to dance with
her, because he thought her plain and badly dressed."

These words made the Duke of Orleans frown. It was by
no means flattering for him to marry a princess of whom,
when young, the king had not thought much. He might
probably have replied, but at this moment De Guiche
quitted the carriage to join the prince. He had remarked
the prince and the chevalier together, and full of anxious
attention; he seemed to try and guess the nature of the
remarks which they had just exchanged. The chevalier,
whether he had fome treacherous object in view, or from
imprudence, did not take the trouble to dissimulate.

86 TEN TEARS LATER.

''Count," he said, "you're a man of excellent taste."

"Thank you for the compliment," replied De Guiche;
"but why do you say that?"

"Well, I appeal to his highness."

"No doubt of it," said Monsieur; "and Guiche knows
perfectly well that I regard him as a most finished cavalier."

"Well, since that is decided, I resume. You nave been
in the princess' society, count, for the last eight days, have
you not?"

"Yes," replied De Guiche, coloring in spite of himself.

"Well, then, tell us frankly, what do you think of her
personal appearance?"

"Of her personal appearance?" returned De Guiche,
stupefied.

"Yes; of her appearance, of her mind, of herself, in
fact."

Astounded by this question, De Guiche hesitated an-
swering.

"Come, come, De Guiche," resumed the chevalier laugh-
ingly, "tell us your opinion frankly; the prince commands
it."

"Yes, yes," said the prince; "be frank."

De Guiche stammered out a few unintelligible words.

"lam perfectly well aware," returned Monsieur, "that
the subject is a delicate one, but you know you can tell me
everything. What do you think of her?"

In order to avoid betraying his real thoughts, De Guiche
had recourse to the only defense which a man taken by sur-
prise really has, and accordingly told an untruth.

"I do not find madame," he said, "either good or bad
looking, yet rather good than bad looking."

"What! count," exclaimed the chevalier, "you who went
into such ecstasies and uttered so many exclamations at the
sight of her portrait."

De Guiche colored violently. Very fortunately, his
horse, which was slightly restive, enabled him by a sudden
plunge to conceal his agitation.

"What portrait?" he murmured, joining them again.

The chevalier had not taken his eyes off him.

"Yes, the portrait. Was not the miniature a good like-
ness?"

"I do not remember. I have forgotten the portrait; it
has quite escaped my recollection."

"And yet it made a very marked impression upon you,"
said the chevalier.

TEN YEAES LATER. 87

"That is not unlikely."

"Is she clever, at all events?" inquired the duke,

"I believe so, my lord."

"Is Monsieur de Buckingham so, too?" said the chevalier.

"I do not know."

"My own opinion is, that he must be," replied the cheva-
lier; "for he makes madame laugh, and she seems to take
no little pleasure in his society, which never happens to a
clever woman when in the company of a simpleton."

"Of course, then, he must be clever," said De Guiche
simply.

At this moment Eaoul opportunely arrived, seeing how
De Guiche was pressed by his dangerous questioner, to
whom he addressed a remark, and so changed the conversa-
tion. The entree was brilliant and Joyous.

The king, in honor of his brother, had directed that the
festivities should be on a scale of the greatest magnificence.
Madame and her mother alighted at the Louvre, where,
during their exile, they had so gloomily submitted to
obscurity, misery, and privations of every description.
That palace, which had been so inhospitable a residence for
the unhappy daughter of Henry IV., the naked walls, the
sunken floorings, the ceilings covered with cowbebs, the
vast but brokan chimney-places, the cold hearths on which
the charity extended to them by parliament had hardly
permitted a fire to glow, was completely altered in appear-
ance. The richest hangings and the thickest carpets, glis-
tening flagstones, and pictures, with their richly gilded
frames; in every direction could be seen candelabras, mir-
rors, and furniture and fittings of the most sumptuous
character; in every direction also were guards of the proud-
est military bearing with floating plumes, crowds of attend-
ants and courtiers in the antechambers and upon the stair-
cases. In the courtyards, where the grass had formerly,
been accustomed to grow, as if the ungrateful Mazarin had
thought it a good idea to let the Parisians perceive that
solitude and disorder were, with misery and despair, the
proper accompaniments of a fallen monarchy; the immense
courtyards, formerly silent and desolate, were now thronged
with courtiers whose horses were pacing and prancing to and
fro. The carriages were filled with young and beautiful
women, who awaited the opjoortunity of saluting, as she
passed, the daughter of that daughter of France, who, dur-
ing her widowhood and exile, had sometimes gone without
wood for her fire, or bread for her table, whom the meanest

88 TEX YEARS LATEE.

attendants at the cluUeau had treated with indifference and
contempt. And so Mme. Henrietta once more returned to
the Louvre, with her heart more swollen with grief and
bitter recollections than her daughter, whose disposition
was fickle and forgetful, returned to it with triumph and
delight. She knew but too well that present brilliant recep-
tion was paid to the happy mother of a king restored to his
throne, and that throne second to none in Europe, while
the worse than indifferent reception she had before met
with was paid to her, the daughter of Henry IV., as a
punishment for having been unhappy. After the princesses
had been installed in their apartments and had rested them-
selves, the gentlemen who had formed their escort having,
in like manner, recovered from their fatigue, they resumed
their accustomed habits and occupations. Raoul began by
setting off to see his father, who had left for Blois. He
then tried to see M. d'Artagnan, who, however, being en-
gaged in the organization of a military household for the
king, could not be found anywhere. Bragelonne next
sought out De Guiche, but the comte was occupied in a
long conference with his tailors and with Manicamp, which
consumed his whole time. With the Duke of Buckingham
he fared still worse, for the duke was purchasing horses
after horses, diamonds upon diamonds. He monopolized
every embroiderer, jeweler, and tailor that Paris could boast
of. Between De Guiche and himself a vigorous contest
ensued, invariably a most courteous one, in which, in order
to insure success, the duke was ready to spend a million;
while the Marechal de Grammont had only allowed his son
sixty thousand francs. So Buckingham laughed and spent
his money. Guiche groaned in despair, and would have
shown it more violently, had it not been for the advice De
Bragelonne gave him.

"A million!" repeated De Guiche daily; ''I must submit.
Why will not the marechal advance me a portion of my
patrimony?"

"Because you will throw it away," said Eaoul.

"What can that matter to him? If I am to die of it, I
shall die of it, and then I shall need nothing further."

"But what need is there to die?" said Raoul.

"I do not wish to be conquered in elegance by an English-
man."

"My dear comte," said Manicamp, "elegance is not a
costly commodity, it is only a very difficult one."

"Yes, but difficult things cost a good deal of money, and
I have only got sixty thousand francs."

TEN" TEAKS LATEK. 89

**A very embarrassing state of tilings, truly," said De
Wardes; "spend as much as Buckingham; there is only
nine hundred and forty thousand francs difference."

"Where am I to find them?"

"Get into debt."

"I am so already."

"A greater reason for getting further."

Advice like this resulted in De Guiclie becoming excited
to such an extent that he committed extravagances where
Buckingham only incurred expenses. The rumor of this
extravagant profuseness delighted the hearts of all the shop-
keepers in Paris; from the hotel of the Duke of Bucking-
ham to that of the Com.te de Grammont nothing but won-
ders was dreamed of. While all this was going on madame
was resting herself, and Bragelonne was engaged in writing
to Mile, de la Valliere. He had already dispatched four
letters, and not an answer to any one of them had been re-
ceived, when, on the very morning fixed for the marriage
ceremony, which was to take place in the chapel at the
Palais Royal, Eaoul, who was dressing, heard his valet an-
nounce M. de Malicorne.

"What can this Malicorne want with me?" thought
Raoul; and then said to his valet, "Let him wait."

"It is a gentleman from Blois," said the valet.

"Admit him at once," said Eaoul eagerly.

Malicorne entered as brilliant as a star, and wearing a
superb sword at his side. After having saluted Eaoul most
gracefully, he said:

"Monsieur de Bragelonne, I am the bearer of a thousand
compliments from a lady to you."

Eaoul colored.

"From a lady," said he — "from a lady of Blois?"

"Yes, monsieur; from Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Thank you, monsieur; I recollect you now," said Eaoul.
*'And what does Mademoiselle de Montalais require of me?"

Malicorne drew four letters from his pocket, which he
offered to Eaoul.

"My own letters! is it possible?" he said, turning pale;
"my letters, and the seals unbroken?"

"Monsieur, your letters did not find, at Blois, the person
to whom they were addressed, and so they are now returned
to you."

"Mademoiselle de la Yalliere has left Blois, then?" ex-
claimed Eaoul.

"Eight days ago."

90 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Where is she, then?"

''At Paris."

"How was it known that these letters were from me?^*

"Madmoiselle de Montalais recognized your handwriting
and your seal," said Malicorne.

Kaoul colored and smiled.

"Mademoiselle de Montalais is exceedingly amiable/' he
said; "she is always kind and charming."

"Always, monsieur."

"Surely she could give me some precise information about
Mademoiselle de la Valliere. I could never find her in this
immense city."

Malicorne drew another packet from his pocket.

"You may possibly find in this letter what you are
anxious to learn."

Raoul hurriedly broke the seal. The writing was that of
Mile. Aure, and inclosed were these words:

"Paris, Palais Royal. The day of the nuptial blessing."

"What does this mean?" inquired Eaoul of Malicorne;
"you probably know."

"I do, monsieur."

"For pity's sake, tell me, then!"

"Impossible, monsieur."

"Why so?"

"Because Mademoiselle Aure has forbidden me to do so."

Eaoul looked at his strange companion, and remained
silent.

"At least, tell me whether it is fortunate or unfortunate."

"That you will see."

"You are very severe in your reservations."

"Will you grant me a favor, monsieur?" said Malicorne.

"In exchange for that you refuse me?"

"Precisely."

"What is it?"

"I have the greatest desire to see the ceremony, and I
have no ticket to admit me, in spite of all the steps! have
taken to secure one. Could you get me admitted?"

"Certainly."

"Do me this kindness, then, I entreat."

"Most willingly, monsieur; come with me."

"I am exceedingly indebted to you, monsieur," said
Malicorne.

"I thought you were a friend of Monsieur de Manicamp?"

TEN YEAES LATER. 91

"I am, monsieur; but this morning I was with him as he
was dressing, and I let a bottle of blacking fall over
his new dress, and he flew at me with his sword in his hand,
so that I was obliged to make my escape. That is the
reason I could not ask him for a ticket; he would have
killed me."

"I can believe it," said Kaoul. "I know Manicamp is
capable of killing a man who has been unfortunate enough
to commit the crime you have to reproach yourself with in
his eyes, but I will repair the mischief as far as you are con-
cerned; I will but fasten my cloak, and shall then be ready
to serve you, not only as a guide, but as an introducer also."

CHAPTEE XIV.

THE SURPRISE OF M3IE. DE MONTALAIS.

Madame's marriage was celebrated in the chapel of the
Palais Royal, in the presence of a crowd of courtiers, who
had been most scrupulously selected. However, notwith-
standing the marked favor which an invitation indicated,
Kaoul, faithful to his promise to Malicorne, who was so
anxious to witness the ceremony, obtained admission for
him. , After he had fulfilled this engagement, Kaoul ap-
proached De Guiche, who, as if in contrast with his magnifi-
cent costume, exhibited a countenance so utterly cast down
by intense grief that the Duke of Buckingham was the
only one present who could contend with him as far as
extreme pallor and dejection were concerned.

"Take care, count," said Kaoul, approaching his friend,
and preparing to support him at the moment the archbishop
blessed the married couple. In fact, the Prince of Conde
was attentively scrutinizing these two images of desolation,
standing like caryatides at either side of the nave of the
church. The count, consequently, kept a more careful
watch over himself.

At the termination of the ceremony the king and queen
passed onward toward the grand reception-room, where
madame and her suite were to be presented to them. It
was remarked that the king, who had seemed more than
surprised at his sister-in-law's appearance, was most flatter-
ing in his compliments to her. Again, it was remarked
that the queen-mother, fixing a long and thoughtful gaze
upon Buckingham, leaned toward Mme. de Mottcville as

92 TEK YEARS LATER.

though to ask her, "Do you not see how much he resembles
his father?" and finally it was remarked that Monsieur
watched everybody, and seemed very discontented. After
the reception of the princess and ambassadors. Monsieur
solicited the king's permission to present to him as well as
to madame the persons belonging to their new household.

"Are you aware, vicomte," inquired the Prince de Conde,
of Kaoul, "whether the household has been selected by a
person of taste, and whether there are any faces worth
looking at?"

"I have not the slightest idea, monseigneur," replied
Kaoul.

"You affect ignorance, surely."

"In what way, monseigneur?"

"You are a friend of De Guiche, who is one of the friends
of the prince."

"That may be so, monseigneur; but the matter having
no interest whatever for me, I-never questioned De Guiche
on the subject; and De Guiche, on his part, never having
been questioned, has not communicated any particulars to
me."

"But Manicamp?"

"It is true I saw Manicamp at Havre, and during the
journey here, but I was very careful to be as little inquisi-
tive toward him as I had been toward De Guiche. Besides,
is it likely that Manicamp should know anything of such
matters, for he is a person of only secondary importance?"

"My dear vicomte, do you not know better than that?"
said the prince. "Why, it is these persons of secondary
importance who, on such occasions, have all the influence;
and the truth is, that nearly everything has been done
through Manicamp's presentations to De Guiche, and
through De Guiche to Monsieur."

"I assure you, monseigneur, I was completely ignorant of
that," said Raoul, "and what your highness does me the
honor to impart is perfectly new to me."

"I will most readily believe you, although it seems in-
credible; besides, we shall not have long to wait. See, the
flying squadron is advancing, as good Queen Catherine use
to say. Ah! ah! what pretty faces!"

A bevy of young girls at this moment entered the salon,
conducted by Mme. de Navailles, and to Manicamp's credit
be it said, if, indeed, he had taken that part in their selec-
tion which the Prince de Conde had assigned him, it was a
display calculated to dazzle those, who, like the prince.

TEN YEAKS LATER. 93

could appreciate every character and style of beauty. A
young, fair-complexioned girl, from twenty to twenty-
one years of age, and whose large blue eyes flashed, as
she opened them, in the most dazzling manner, walked at
the head of the band and was the first presented.

"Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente," said Mme. de
Navailles to Monsieur, who, as he saluted his wife, repeated:

"Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."

"Ah! ah!" said the Prince de Conde to Kaoul, "she
seems tolerable enough."

"Yes," said Raoul, "but has a somewhat haughty style."

"Bah! we know these airs very well, vicomte; three
months hence she will be tame enough. But look! that,
indeed, is a pretty face."

"Yes," said Eaoul, "and one I am acquainted with."

"Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais," said Mme. de
Navailles.

The name and Christian name were carefully repeated by
Monsieur.

"Great heavens!" exclaimed Eaoul, fixing his bewildered
gaze upon the entrance doorway.

"What's the matter?" inquired the prince; "was it
Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais who made you utter such
a 'Great heavens!' "

"No, monseigneur, no," replied Eaoul, pale and trem-
bling.

"Well, then, if it be not Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais,
it is that pretty blonde who follows her. What beautiful
eyes! She is rather thin, but has fascinations without
number."

"Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere," said
Mme. de Navailles; and, as this name resounded through
his whole being, a cloud seemed to rise from his breast to
his eyes, so that he neither saw nor heard anything more;
and the prince, finding him nothing more than a mere echo
which remained silent under his railleries, moved forward
to inspect somewhat closer the beautiful girls whom his first
glance had already particularized.

"Louise here! Louise a maid of honor to madame!" mur-
mured Eaoul; and his eyes, which did not suffice to satisfy
his reason, wandered from Louise to Montalais.

The latter had already emancipated herself from her
assumed timidity, which she only needed for the presenta-
tion and for her reverences.

Mile, de Montalais, from the corner of the room to which

94 TEJiT YEARS LATER.

she had retired, was looking with no slight confidence at
the different persons present; and, having discovered Eaonl,
she amnsed herself with the profound astonishment which
her own and her friend's presence there had caused the un-
happy lover. Her merry and malicious look, which Eaoul
tried to avoid meeting, and yet which he sought inquiringly
from time to time, placed Eaoul on the rack. As for
Louise, whether from natural timidity, or from any other
reason for which Eaoul could not account, she kept her
eyes constantly cast down, and intimidated, dazzled, and
with impeded respiration, she withdrew herself as much as
possible aside, unaffected even by the knocks which Monta-
lais gave her with her elbow. The whole scene was a per-
fect enigma for Eaoul, the key to which he would have
given anything to obtain. But no one was there Avho could
assist him, not even Malicorne, who, a little uneasy at find-
ing himself in the presence of so many persons of good
birth, and not a little discouraged by Montalais' bantering
glances, had described a circle, and by degrees had suc-
ceeded in getting a few paces from the prince, behind the
group of maids of honor, and nearly within reach of Mile.
Aure's voice, she being the planet around which he, her
attendant satellite, seemed compelled to gravitate. As he
recovered his self-possession Eaoul fancied he recognized
voices on his right hand which were familiar to him, and he
perceived De Wardes, De Guiche, and the Chevalier de Lor-
raine, conversing together. It is true they were talking in
tones so low that the sound of their words could hardly be
heard in the vast apartment. To speak in that manner
from any particular place without bending down, or turning
round, or looking at the person with whom one might be
engaged in conversation, is a talent which cannot be imme-
diately acquired in perfection by newcomers. A long study
is needed for such conversations, which, without a look,
gesture, or movement of the head, seemed like the conver-
sation of a group of statues. In fact, in the king's and
queen's grand assemblies, while their majesties were speak-
ing, and while every one present seemed to be listening with
the most profound silence, some of these noiseless conversa-
tions took place, in which adulation was not the prevailing
feature. But Eaoul was one among others exceedingly
clever in this art, so much a matter of etiquette, that from
the movement of the lips he was often able to guess the
sense of the words.

"Who is that Montalais?" inquired De Wardes, "and

TEN" YEARS LATER. 95

that La Valliere? Vvliat country-town have we had sent
here?"

"Montalais?" said the chevalier. "Oh, I know her; she
is a good sort of a girl, whom we shall find amusing enough.
La Valliere is a charming girl, slightly lame."

"Ah, bah!" said De Wardes.

"Do not be absurd, De Wardes, there are some very
characteristic and ingenious Latin axioms upon lame ladies."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said De Guiche, looking at
Eaoul with uneasiness, "be a little careful, I entreat you."

But the uneasiness of the count, in appearance, at least,
was not needed. Eaoul had preserved the firmest and most
indilferent countenance, although he had not lost a word
that had passed. He seemed to keep an account of the
insolence and license of the two speakers in order to settle
matters witli them at the earliest opportunity.

De Wardes seemed to guess what was passing in his mind,
and continued:

"Who are these young ladies' lovers?"

"Montalais' lover?" said the chevalier.

"Yes, Montalais first."

"You, I, or De Guiche — whoever likes, in fact."

"And the other?"

"Mademoiselle de la Valliere?"

"Yes."

"Take care, gentlemen," exclaimed De Guiche, anxious
to put a stop to De Wardes' reply; "take care, madame is
listening to us."

Eaoul thrust his hand up to the wrist in his justau-coiys
coat in great agitation. But the very malignity which he
saw was excited against these poor girls made him take a
serious resolution.

"Poor Louise," he thought, "has come here only with
an honorable object in view, and under honorable protec-
tion; and I must learn what that object is which she has in
view, and who it is that protects her,"

And following Malicorne's maneuver, he made his way to-
ward a group of the maids of honor. The presentations
soon terminated. The king, who had done nothing but
look at and admire madame, shortly afterward left the re-
ception-room accompanied by the two queens. The Cheva-
lier de Lorraine resumed his place beside Monsieur, and, as
he accompanied him, insinuated a few drops of the poison
which he had collected during the last hour, while looking
at some of the faces in the court, and suspecting that

96 TEN" YEARS LATER.

some of their hearts might be happy. A few of the persons
present followed the king as he quitted the apartment; but
such of the courtiers as assumed an independence of char-
acter, and professed a gallantry of disposition, began to
apj)roach the ladies of the court. The prince paid his com-
pliments to Mile, de Tonnay-Charente, Buckingham de-
voted himself to Mme. Chalais and to Mile, de Lafayette,
whom madame had already distinguished by her notice,
and whom she held in high regard. As for the Comte de
Guiche, who had abandoned Monsieur as soon as he could
approach madame alone, he conversed, with great anima-
tion, with Mme. de Valentinois, and with Miles, de Cregny
and de Chatillon.

Amid these varied political and amorous interests, Mali-
corne was anxious to gain Montalais' attention; but the
latter preferred talking with Eaoul, even if it were only to
amuse herself with his numerous questions and his surprise.
Eaoul had gone direct to Mile, de la Valliere, and had
saluted her with the profoundest respect, at which Louise
blushed, and could not say a word. Montalais, however,
hurried to her assistance.

"Well, Monsieur le Vicomte, here we are, you see."

"I do, indeed, see you," said Eaoul, smiling, "and it is
exactly because you are here that I wish to ask for some
explanation."

Malicorne approached the group with his most fascinat-
ing smile.

"Go away, Malicorne; really, you are exceedingly indis-
creet."

At this remark Malicorne bit his lips and retired a few
steps, without making any reply. His smile, however,
changed its exjDression, and from its former frankness, be-
came mocking in its expression.

"You wished for an explanation. Monsieur Eaoul?" in-
quired Montalais.

"It is surely worth one, I think; Mademoiselle de la
Valliere a maid of honor to madame!"

"Why should not she be a maid of honor, as well as
myself?" inquired Montalais.

"Pray, accept my compliments, young ladies," said
Eaoul, who fancied he perceived they were not disposed to
answer him in a direct manner.

"Your remark was not made iu a very complimentary
manner, vicomte."

"Mine?"

TEK YEARS LATER. 97

^'Certainly; I appeal to Louise,"

"Monsieur do Brasfelonne probably thinks the position is
above my condition," said Louise hesitatingly.

"Assuredly not," replied Eaoul eagerly; "you know very
well that such is not my feeling; were you called upon to
occupy a queen's throne, I should not be surprised; how
much greater reason, then, such a position as this? The
only circumstance which amazes me is, that I should have
learned it to-day, and that only by mere accident."

"That is true," replied Montalais, with her usual giddi-
ness; "you know nothing about it, and there is no reason
why you should. Monsieur de Bragelonne had written
several letters to you, but your mother was the only person
who remained behind at Blois, and it was necessary to pre-
vent these letters falling into her hands; I intercepted
them, and returned them to Monsieur Eaoul, so that he be-
lieved you were still at Blois while you were here in Paris,
and had no idea whatever, indeed, how high you had risen
in rank."

"Did you not inform Monsieur Eaoul, as I begged you to
do?"

"Why should I? To give him an opportunity of making
some of his severe remarks and moral reflections, and to
undo what we had so much trouble in getting done?"

"Ceitainly not."

"Am I so very severe, then?" said Eaoul inquiringly.

"Besides," said Montalais, "it is sufficient to say that it
suited me. I was about setting off for Paris; you were
away; Louise was weeping her eyes out; interpret that as
you please; I begged a friend, a protector of mine, who had
obtained the appointment for me, to solicit one for Louise;
the appointment arrived. Louise left in order to get her
costume prepared; as I had my own ready, I remained be-
hind; I received your letters, and returned them to you,
adding a few Avords, promising you a surprise. Your sur-
prise is before you, monsieur, and seems to be a fair one
enough; you have nothing more to ask. Come, Monsieur
Malicorne, it is now time to leave these young people to-
gether; they have many things to talk about; give me your
hand; I trust that you appreciate the honor which is con-
ferred upon you. Monsieur Malicorne."

"Forgive me," said Eaoul, arresting the giddy girl, and
giving to his voice .n intonation the gravity of which con-
trasted with that of Montalais; "forgive me, but may I in-
quire the name of the protector you speak of — for if protec-
DuMAS — Vol. XV. 5

98 TEN TEAKS LATER.

tion be extended toward you, Mademoiselle Montalais, and
for which, indeed, so many reasons exist," added Raoul,
bowing, *'I do not see that the same reasons exist why
Mademoiselle de la Valliere should be similarly protected."

"But, Monsieur Raoul," said Louise innocently, "there
is no difference in the matter, and I do not see why I should
not tell it you myself; it was Monsieur Malicorne who
obtained it for me."

Eaoul remained for a moment almost stupefied, asking
himself if they were trifling with him; he then turned
round to interrogate Malicorne, but he had been hurried
away by Montalais, and was already at some distance from
them. Mile, de la Valliere attempted to follow her friend,
but Eaoul, with gentle authority, detained her.

"Louise, one word only, I beg."

"But, Monsieur Raoul," said Louise, blushing, "we are
alone. Every one has left. They will become anxious, and
will be looking for us."

"Fear nothing," said the young man, smiling, "we are
neither of sufficient importance for our absence to be re-
marked."

"But I have my duty to perform. Monsieur Raoul."

"Do not be alarmed, I am acquainted with the usages of
the court; you will not be on duty until to-morrow; a few
minutes are at your disposal, which will enable you to give
me the information I am about to have the honor to ask
you."

"How serious you are. Monsieur Eaoul!" said Louise.

"Because the circumstance is a serious one. Are you
listening?"

"I am listening; I would only rej^eat, monsieur, that we
are quite alone."

"You are right," said Eaoul; and, offering her his hand,
he led the young girl into the gallery adjoining the recep-
tion-room, the windows of which looked out upon the court-
yard. Every one hurried toward the middle window, which
had a balcony outside, from which all the details of the
slow and formal preparations for departure could be seen.
Raoul Oldened one of the side windows, and then, being
alone with Louise, said to her:

"You know, Louise, that from my childhood I have re-
garded you as my sister, as one who has been the confidnate
of all my troubles, to whom I have intrusted all my hopes."

"Yes, Monsieur Raoul," she answered softly; "yes,
Monsieur Raoul, I know that."

TEIS" YEARS LATER. 99

"You used, on your side, to show the same friendship
toward me, and had the same confidence in me. Why have
you not, on this occasion, been my friend, and why have
you shown a suspicion of me?"

Mile, de la Valliere did not answer.

''I had thought you loved me," said Eaoul, whose voice
became more and more agitated; "I had thought that you
had consented to all the plans which we had, together, laid
down for our own happiness, at the time when we wandered
up and down the large walks of Cour-Cheverny, and under
the avenue of poplar-trees leading to Blois. You do not
answer me, Louise."

"Is it possible," he inquired, breathing with difficulty,
"that you no longer love me?"

"I did not say so," replied Louise softly.

"Oh! tell me the truth, I implore you; all my hopes in
life are centered in you; I chose you for your gentle and
simple tastes. Do not suffer yourself to be dazzled, Louise,
now that you are in the midst of a court where all that is
pure becomes corrupt — where all that is young soon grows
old. Louise, close your ears, so as not to hear what may
be said; shut your eyes, so as not to see the examples
before you; shut your lips, that you may not inhale the
corrupting influences about you. Without falsehood or
subterfuge, Louise, am I to believe what Mademoiselle de
Montalais stated? Louise, did you come to Paris because I
was no longer at Blois?"

La Valliere blushed and concealed her face in her hands.

"Yes, it was so, then!" exclaimed Eaoul delightedly;
"that was, then, your reason for coming here. I love you
as I never yet loved you. Thanks, Louise, for this de-
votedness; but measures must be taken to place you beyond
all insult, to secure you from every harm; Louise, a maid
of honor, in the court of a young princess in these times of
freedom of manners and inconstant affections — a maid of
honor is placed as an object of attack, without having any
means of defense afforded her; this state of things cannot
continue; you must be married in order to be respected."

"Married?"

"Yes, there is my hand, Louise; will you place your
hand within it?"

"But your father?"

"My father leaves me perfectly free."

*'Yet "

"I understand your scruples, Louise; I will consult my
father."

100 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Reflect, Monsieur Eaonl; wait."

"Wait? It is impossible; reflect, Louise, when you are
concerned, it would be insulting to you; give me your hand,
dear Louise, I am my own master; my father will consent,
I know; give me your hand, do not keep me waiting thus;
one word in answer, one word only; if not, I shall begin to
think that in order to change you forever nothing more
was needed than a single step in the palace, a single breath
of favor, a smile from the queen, a single look from the
king."

Raoul had no sooner pronounced this latter word than
La Valliere became as pale as death, no doubt from her fear
at seeing the young man excite himself. With a movement
as rapid as thought, she placed both her hands in those of
Ea')ul, and then fled without adding a syllable; disappeared
without casting a look behind her. Eaoul felt his whole
frame tremble at the contact of her hand; he received the
compact as a solemn compact wrung by affectioii from her
child-like timidity.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CONSENT OF ATHOS.

Raoul had quitted the Palais Royal full of ideas which
admitted of no delay in their execution. He mounted his
horse in the courtyard, and followed the road- to Blois,
Vv'hile the marriage festivities of Monsieur and the Princess
of England were being celebrated with great animation by
the courtiers, but to the great despair of De Guiche an^
Buckingham. Raoul lost no time on the road, and in six-
teen hours he arrived at Blois. As he traveled along he
arranged his arguments in the best manner. Fever also is
an argument that cannot be answered, and Raoul had an
attack of fever. Athos was in his study, making some
additions to his memoirs, when Raoul entered, accompanied
by Grimaud. Keen-sighted and penetrating, a mere glance
at his son told him that something extraordinary had
befallen him.

"You seem to have come on some matter of great impor-
tance," said he to Raoul, after he had embraced him, and
pointing to a seat.

"Yes, monsieur," replied the young man; "and I entreat

TEN YEARS LATER. 101

you to give me that same kind attention which has never
yet failed me."

"Speak, Eaoul."

"I present the case to you, monsieur, free from all pref-
ace, for that would be unworthy of you. Madmeoiselle de
la Valliere is in Paris as one of madame's maids of honor.
I have pondered deeply on the matter; I love Madmeoiselle
de la Valliere above everything; and it is not proper to
leave her in a position where her reputation, her virtue
even, may be exposed. It is my wish, therefore, to marry
her, monsieur, and I have come to solicit your consent to
my marriage."

While this communication was being made to him Athos
had maintained the profoundest silence and reserve. Eaoul,
who had begun his address with an assumption of self-
possession, finished it by allowing a manifest emotion to
escape him at every word. Athos fixed upon Bragelonne a
searching look, overshadowed indeed by a slight sadness.

"You have reflected well upon it?" he inquired.

"Yes, monsieur."

"I believe you have already been made acquainted with
my views respecting this alliance?"

"Yes, monsieur," replied Eaoul, in a low tone of voice;
"but you added that if I persisted ^"

"You do insist, then?"

Bragelonne stammered out an almost unintelligible assent.

"Your passion," continued Athos tranquilly, "must,
indeed, be very great, since, notwithstanding my dislike to
this union, you persist in wishing it."

Eaoul passed his trembling hand across his forehead to
remove the perspiration which had collected there. Athos
looked at him, and his heart was touched by pity for him.
He then rose, and said:

"It is no matter; my own personal feelings are indiffer-
ent, since yours are concerned; you ijeed my assistance, I
am ready to give it; tell me what you want."

"Your kind indulgence, first of all, monsieur," said
Eaoul, taking hold of his hand.

"You have mistaken my feelings, Eaoul. I have more
than mere indulgence. for you in my heart."

Eaoul kissed as devotedly as a lover could have done the
hand he held in his own.

"Come, come," said Athos, "I am quite ready; what do
you wish me to sign?"

"Nothing whatever, monsieur; only it would be very kind

102 TElf YEARS LATER.

if you would take the trouble to write to the king, to whom
I belong, and solicit his majesty's permission for me to
marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere."

"Well thought, Raoul; after, or rather, before myself,
you have a master to consult, that master being the king;
it is loyal in you to submit yourself voluntarily to this
double proof; I will grant your request without delay,
Eaoul."

The count approached the window, and, leaning out,
called to Grimaud, who showed his head from an arbor
covoered with jasmine, which he was occupied in trimming.

"My horses, Grimaud," continued the count.

"Why this order, monsieur?" inquired Eaoul.

"We shall set oU in a few hours."

"Whither?"

"For Paris."

"Paris, monsieur?"

"Is not the king at Paris?"

"Certainly."

"Well, ought we not to go there?"

"Yes, monsieur," said Eaoul, almost alarmed by this
kind condescension. "I do not ask you to put yourself to
such inconvenience, and a letter merely "

"You mistake my position, Eaoul; it is not respectful
that a simple gentleman, such as I am, should write to his
sovereign. I wish to speak, and I ought to speak, to the
king, and I will do so. We will go together, Eaoul."

"You overjiower me with your kindness, monsieur."

"How do you think his majesty is affected?"

"Toward me, monsieur?"

"Yes."

"Excellently well disposed."

"You know that to be so?" continued the count.

"The king has himself told me so."

"On what occasion?"

"Upon the recommendation of Monsieur d'Artagnan, I
believe, and on account of an affair in the Place de Greve,
v/hen I had the honor to draw my sword in the king's serv-
ice. I have reason to believe that, vanity apart, I stand
well with his majesty."

"So much the better."

"But I entreat you, monsieur," pursued Eaoul, "not to
maintain toward me your present grave and serious manner.
Do not make me bitterly regret having listened to a feeling
stronger than anything else."

TEN YEAllS LATER. 103

"That is the second time you have said so, Raoul; it was
quite unnecessary; you require my formal consent, and you
have it. We need talk no more on the subject, therefore.
Come and see my new plantations, liaoul."

The young man knew very well that, after the expres-
sion of his father's wish, no opportunity of discussion was
loft him. He bowed his head, and followed his father into
the garden. Athos slowly pointed out to him the grafts,
the cuttings, and the avenues he was planting. This per-
fect repose of manner disconcerted Eaoul extremely; the
affection with which his own heart was filled seemed so
great that the whole world could hardly contain it. How,
then, could his father's heart remain void, and closed to its
influence? Bragelonne therefore, collecting all his courage,
suddenly exclaimed:

"It is impossible, monsieur, you can have any reason to
reject Mademoiselle de la Valliere; in Heaven's name, she
is so good, so gentle and pure, that your mind, so perfect
in its penetration, ought to appreciate her accordingly.
Does any secret repugnance, or any hereditary dislike, exist
between you and her family?"

"Look, Raoul, at that beautiful lily of the valley," said
Athos; "observe how the shade and the damp situation suic
it, particularly the shadow Avhich that sycamore-tree casts
over it, so that the warmth, and not the blazing heat of
the sun, filters through its branches."

Raoul stopped, bit his lips, and then, with the blood
mantling in his face, he said courageously:

"One word of explanation, I beg, monsieur. You cannot
forget that your son is a man."

"In that case," replied Athos, drawing himself up with
sternness, "prove to me that you are a man, for you do not
show yourself to be a son. I begged you to wait the oppor-
tunity of forming an illustrious alliance. I should have
obtained a wife for you from the first ranks of the rich
nobility. I wish you to be distinguished by the splendor
which glory and fortune confer, for nobility of descent you
have already."

"Monsieur," exclaimed Raoul, carried away by a first im-
pulse, "I was reproached the other day for not knowing
who my mother was."

Athos turned pale; then, knitting his brows like the
greatest of the heathen deities:

"I am waiting to learn the reply you made," he de-
manded, in an imperious manner.

lUi TEIST YEARS LATER.

"Forgive me! oh, forgive me!'' murmured the young
man, sinking at once from the lofty tone he had assumed.

"What was your reply, monsieur?" inquired the count,
stamping his feet upon the ground.

"Monsieur, my sword was in my hand immediately, my
adversary placed himself on guard, I struck his sword over
the palisade, and threw him after it."

"Why did you suffer him to live?"

"The king has prohibited dueling, and at that moment
I was an ambassador of the king."

"Very well," said Athos; "but the greater reason I should
see his majesty."

"What do you intend to ask him?"

"Authority to draw my sword against the man who has
inflicted this injury upon me."

"If I did not act as I ought to have done, I beg you to
forgive me."

"Did I reproach you, Eaoul?"

"Still, the permission you are going to ask from the
king?"

"I will implore his majesty to sign your marriage-con-
tract, but on one condition."

"Are conditions necessary with me, monsieur? Com-
mand, and you shall be obeyed."

"On one condition, I repeat," continued Athos; "that
you tell me the name of the man who spoke of your mother
in that way."

"What need is there that you should know his name?
The olfense was directed against myself, and the permission
once obtained from his majesty, to revenge it is my affair."

"Tell me his name, monsieur."

"I will not allow you to expose yourself."

"Do you take me for a Don Diego? His name, I say."

"You insist upon it?"

"I demand it."

"The Vicomte de Wardes."

"Very well," said Athos tranquilly; "I know him.
But our horses are ready, I see; and, instead of delaying
our departure for a couple of liours, we will set off at once.
Come, monsieur."

TEN YEARS LATER. 105

CHAPTER XVI.

MONSIEUR BECOMES JEALOUS OF THE DUKE OF BUCKING-
HAM.

While the Comte de la Fere was proceeding on his way
to Paris, accompanied by Raoul, the Palais Royal was the
theater wherein a scene of what Moliere would have called
excellent comedy was being performed. Four days had
elapsed since his marriage, and Monsieur, having break-
fasted very hurriedly, passed into his antechamber, frown-
ing and out of temper. The repast had not been over-
agreeable. Madame had had breakfast served in her oAvn
appartment, and Monsieur had breakfasted almost alone;
the Chevalier de Lorraine and Manicamp were the only
persons present at the meal, which had lasted three-quarters
of au hour without a single syllable having been uttered.
Manicamp, who was less intimate with his royal highness
than the Chevalier de Lorraine, vainly endeavored to de-
tect, from the expression of the prince's face, what had
made him so ill-humored. The Chevalier de Lorraine, who
had no occasion to speculate about anything, inasmuch as
he knew all, ate his breakfast with that extraordinary appe-
tite which the troubles of one's friends afford us, and en-
joyed at the same time both the ill-humor of Monsieur and
the vexation of Manicamp. He seemed delighted, while he
went on eating, to detain the prince, who wis very im-
patient to move, still at table. Monsieur at times repented
the ascendency which he had permitted the Chevalier de
Lorraine to acquire over him, and which exempted the
latter from any observance of etiquette toward him. Mon-
sieur was now in one of those moods, but he dreaded as
much as he liked the chevalier, and contented himself with
indulging his anger without betraying it. Every now and
then Monsieur raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered
them toward the slices of 2^dte which the chevalier was
attacking; and finally, not venturing to betray his anger,
he gesticulated in a manner which Harlequin might have
envied. At last, however, Monsieur could control himself
no longer, and at the dessert, rising from the table in ex-
cessive wrath, as we have related, he left the Chevalier de
Lorraine to finish his breakfast as he pleased. Seeing Mon-
sieur rise from the table, Manicamp, napkin in hand, rose
also. Monsieur ran rather than walked toward the ante-
chamber, where, noticing an usher in attendance, he gave

106 TEN YEARS LATER.

him some directions iu a low tone of voice. Then, turning
back again, but avoiding passing through the breakfast
apartment, he crossed several rooms, with the intention of
seeking the queen-mother in her oratory, where she usually
remained.

It was about ten o'clock in the morning. Anne of Austria
was engaged in writing as Monsieur entered. The queen-
mother was extremely attached to her son, for he was hand-
some in person and amiable in disposition. He was, in fact,
more affectionate, and, it might be, more effeminate than
the king. He pleased his mother by those trifling sym-
pathizing attentions which all women are glad to receive.
Anne of Austria, who would have been rejoiced to have had
a daughter, almost found in this, her favorite son, the atten-
tions, solicitude, and playful manners of a child of twelve
years of age. All the time he passed with his mother he
employed in admiring her arms, in giving his opinion upon
her cosmetics, and recipes for compounding essences, in
which she was very particular; and then, too, he kissed her
hands and eyes in the most endearing and childlike manner,
and had always some sweetmeats to offer her, or some new
style of dress to recommend. Anne of Austria loved the
king, or, rather, the regal power in her eldest son; Louis
XIV. represented legitimacy by divine right. With the
king, her character was that of the queen-mother; with
Philip she was simply the mother. The latter knew that,
of all places of refuge, a mother's heart is the most com-
passionate and surest. When quite a child he always fled
there for refuge when he and his brother quarreled, often,
after having struck him, which constituted the crime of
high treason on his part, after certain engagements vrith
hands and nails, in which the king and his rebellious sub-
ject indulged in their night-dresses respecting the right to a
disputed bed, having their servant Laporte as umpire —
Philip, the conqueror, but terrified at his victory, used to
flee to his mother to obtain reinforcements from her, or,
at least, the assurance of a forgiveness, which Louis XIV.
granted with difficulty, and after an interval. Anne, from
this habit of peaceable intervention, had succeeded in
arranging the different disputes of both her sons, and in
sharing, at _ the same time, all their secrets. The king,
somewhat jealous of that maternal solicitude which was
bestowed particularly upon his brother, felt disposed to
show toward Anne of Austria more submission and attach
ment than his character really possessed. Anne of Austria

TEN YEARS LATER. 107

had adopted this line of conduct especially toward the
young queen. In this manner she ruled with almost
despotic sway over the royal household, and she was already
preparing all her batteries to rule with the same absolute
authority over the household of her second son. Anne ex-
perienced almost a feeling of pride whenever she saw any
one enter her apartment with Avoe-begone looks, pale cheeks,
or red eyes, gathering from appearances that assistance was
required either by the weakest or by the most rebellious.
She was writing, we have said, when Monsieur entered her
oratory, not with red eyes or pale cheeks, but restless, out
of temper, and annoyed. With an absent air he kissed his
mother's arms, and sat himself down before receiving her
permission to do so. Considering the strict rules of
etiquette established at the court of Anne of Austria, this
forgetfulness of customary respect was a sign of preoccupa-
tion, especially on Philip's part, who, of his own accord,
observed a respect toward her of a somewhat exaggerated
character. If, therefore, he so notoriously failed with
regard to such principles of respect, there must surely be a
serious cause for it.

"What is the matter, Philip?" inquired Anne of Austria,
turning toward her son.

"A great many things," murmured the prince, in a dole-
ful tone of voice.

"You look like a man who has a great deal to do," said
the queen, laying down her pen.

Philip frowned, but did not reply.

"Among the various subjects which occupy your mind,"
said Anne of Austria, "there must surely be one which
occupies it more than others."

"One, indeed, has occupied me more than any other."

"Well, what is it? I am listening."

Philip opened his mouth as if to express all the troubles
his mind was filled v/ith, and which he seemed to be wait-
ing only for an opportunity to declare what they were.
But he suddenly became silent, and a sigh alone expressed
all that his heart was filled Avith.

"Come, Philip, show a little firmness," said the queen-
mother. "When one has to complain of anything it is
generally an individual who is the cause of it. Am I not
right?"

"I do not say no, madame."

"Whom do you wish to speak about? Come, take
courage."

108 TEN YEARS LATEE.

"Ill fact, madame, what I might possibly have to say
must be kept a perfect secret; for when a lady is in the
case "

''Ah! you're speaking of madame, then?" inquired the
queen-mother, with a feeling of the liveliest curiosity.

"Yes."

"Well, then, if you wish to speak of madame, do not
hesitate to do so. I am your mother, and she is no more
than a stranger to me. Yet, as she is my daughter-in-lav\%
be assured 1 shall be interested, even were it for your OT\'n
sake alone, in hearing all you may have to say about her."

"Pray tell me, madame, in your turn, whether you have
not remarked something?"

"Something! Philip! Your words almost frighten me,
from their want of meaning. What do you mean by some-
thing?"

"Madame is pretty, certainly."

"No doubt of it."

"Yet not altogether beautiful."

"No; but as she grows older she will probably become
very strikingly beautiful. You must have remarked the
change which a few years have already made in her. Her
beauty will improve more and more; she is now only sixteen
years of age. At fifteen I was, myself, very thin; but even
as she is at present, madame is very pretty."

"And, consequently, others may have remarked it."

"Undoubtedly, for a woman of ordinary rank is remarked,
and with still greater reason a princess."

"She has been well brought up, I suppose?"

"Madame Henrietta, her mother, is a woman somewhat
cold in her manner, slightly pretentious, but full of noble
thoughts. The princess' education may have been neg-
lected, but her principles I believe to be good. Such, at
least, was the opinion I formed of her when she resided in
France; but she afterward returned to England, and I am
ignorant what may have occurred there."

"What do you mean?"

"Simply that there are some heads naturally giddy, which
are easily turned by prosperity."

"That is the very word, madame. I think the princess
rather giddy."

"We must not exaggerate, Philip; she is clever and witty,
and has a certain amount of coquetry very natural in a
young woman; but this defect is, in persons of high rank
and position, a great advantage at a court. A princess who

TEN YEARS LATER. 109

is tinged with coquetry usually forms a brilliant court
around her; her smile stimulates luxury, and arouses wit,
and even courage; the nobles, too, fight better for a prince
whose wife is beautiful."

"Thank you extremely, madame,"said Philip, with some
temper; "you really have drawn some very alarming pic-
tures for me."

"In what respect?" asked the queen, with j)retended
simplicity.

"You know, madamo," said Philip dolefully, "whether
I had or had not a very great dislike to getting married."

"Now, indeed, you alarm me. You have some serious
cause of complaint against madame."

"I do not precisely say it is serious."

"In that case, then, throw aside your present mournful
looks. If you show yourself to others in your present state,
people will take you for a very unhapjiy husband."

"The fact is," replied Philip, "I am not altogether satis-
fied as a husband, and 1 shall be glad that others should
know it."

"For shame, Philip."

"Well, then, madame, I will tell you frankly that I do
not understand the life I am required to lead."

"Explain yourself."

"My wife does not seem to belong to me; she is always
leaving me for some reason or another. In the mornings
there are visits, correspondences, and toilets; in the even-
ings, balls and concerts."

"You are jealous, Philip."

"I? Heaven forbid. Let others act the part of a jealous
husband, not I; but I am annoyed."

"All those things you reproach your wife with are per-
fectly innocent, and, so long as you have nothing of greater
importance — Yet, listen: without being very blamable, a
woman can excite a good deal of uneasiness; certain visitors
may be received, certain preferences shown, which expose
young women to remark, and which are enough to drive out
of their senses even those husbands who are least disposed
to be jealous."

"Ah! now we are coming to the real point at last, and
not without some difficulty, too. You speak of frequent
visits and certain preferences — very good; for the last hour
we have been beating about the bush, and at last you have
broached the true question."

"This is more serious than I thought. Is it possible.

110 TEN" YEARS LATER.

then, that madame can have given you grounds for these
complaints against her?"

"Precisely so."

"What, your wife, married only four days ago, prefer
some other person to yourself! Take care, Philip, you ex-
aggerate your grievances; in wishing to j^rove everything,
you prove nothing."

The prince, bewildered by his mother's serious manner,
wished to reply, but he could only stammer out some unin-
telligible words.

"You draw back, then?" said Anne of Austria. "I pre-
fer that, as it is an acknowledgment of your mistake."

"No!" exclaimed Philip, "I do not draw back, and I
will prove all I asserted. I spoke of preference and of
visits, did I not? Well, listen to them."

Anne of Austria prepared herself to listen with that love
of gossip which the best woman living and the best mother,
were she a queen even, always finds in being mixed up with
the petty squabbles of a household.

"Well," said Philip, "tell me one thing."

"What is that?"

"Why does my wife retain an English court about h%r?'*
said Philip, as he crossed his arms and looked his mother
steadily in the face, as if he were convinced that she could
not answer the question.

"For a very simple reason," returned Anne of Austria;
"because the English are her countrymen, because they
have expended large sums in order to accomjiany her to
France, and because it would be hardly polite — not good
policy, certainly — to dismiss abruptly those members of the
English nobility Avho have not shrunk from any devotion or
from any sacrifice."

"A wonderful sacrifice, indeed," returned Philip, "to
desert a wretched country to come to a beautiful one, where
a greater effect can be produced for one crown than can be
procured elsewhere for four! Extraordinary devotion,
really, to travel a hundred leagues in company with a woman
one is in love with?"

"In love, Philip! think what you are saying. Who is in
love with madame?"

"The handsome Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps you will
defend him as well?"

Anne of Austria blushed and smiled at the same time.
The name of the Duke of Buckingham recalled certain
recollections to her of a tender and melancholy nature.

TEN YEARS LATER, 111

"The Duke of Buckingham?" she murmured.

"Yes; one of those feather-bed soldiers '^

"The Buckinghams are loyal and brave," said Anne of
Austria courageously.

"This is too bad; my own mother takes the part of my
wife's lover against me!" exclaimed Philip, incensed to
such an extent that his weak organization was affected
almost to tears.

"Philip, my son, "exclaimed Anne of Austria, "such an
expression is unworthy of you. Your wife has no lover;
and, had she one, it would not be the Duke of Buckingham.
The members of that family, I repeat, are loyal and dis-
creet, and the rights of hospitality are sure to be respected
by them."

"The Duke of Buckingham is an Englishman, madame,"
said Philip; "and may I ask if the English so very reli-
giously respect what belongs to princes of France?"

Anne blushed a second time, and turned aside under the
pretext of taking her pen from her desk again, but really
to conceal her blushes from her son.

"Really, Philip," she said, "you seem to discover expres-
sions for the purpose of embarrassing me, and your anger
blinds you while it alarms me; reflect a little."

"There is no need of reflection, madame, for I see with
my own eyes."

"Well, and what do you see?"

"That Buckingham never quits my wife. He presumes
to make presents to her, and she ventures to accept them.
Yesterday she was talking about sachets a la violette; well,
our French perfumers, you know very well, madame, for
you have over and over again asked for it without success — •
our French perfumers, I say, have never been able to pro-
cure this scent. The duke, however, wore about him a
sachet a la violette, and I am sure that the one my wife has
came from him."

"Indeed, monsieur," said Anne of Austria, "you build
your pyramids upon needle points. Be careful. What
liarm, I ask you, can there be in a man giving to his coun-
trywoman a recipe for a new essence? These strange ideas,
I protest, painfully recall your father to me; he who so
frequently and so unjustly made me suffer."

"The Duke of Buckingham's father was probably more
reserved and more respectful than his son," said Philip
thoughtlessly, not perceiving how deeply he had wounded
his mother's feelings.

112 TEN" YEARS LATER.

The queen turned pale, and pressed her clinched hand
upon her bosom; but, recovering herself immediately, she
said:

"You came here with some intention or another, I sup-
pose?"

"Certainly."

"What was it?"

"1 came, madame, intending to complain energetically,
and to inform you that I will not submit to anything from
the Duke of Buckingham."

"What do you intend to do, then?"

"I shall complain to the king."

"And what do you expect the king to reply?"

"Very well, then," said Monsieur, with an expression of
stern determination on his countenance, which offered a
singular contrast to its usual gentleness. "Very well. I
will right myself."

"What do you call righting yourself?" inquired Anne of
Austria, in alarm.

"I will have the Duke of Buckingham quit the princess,
I will have him quit France, and I will see that my wishes
are intimated to him."

"You will intimate nothing of the kind, Philip," said the
queen; "for if you act in that manner, and violate hospital-
ity to that extent, 1 will invoke the severity of the king
against you."

"Do you threaten me, madame?" exclaimed Philip, in
tears; "do you threaten me in the midst of my complaints?"

"I do not threaten you; I do but place an obstacle in the
path of your hasty anger. I maintain that, to adopt toward
the Duke of Buckingham, or any other Englishman, any
rigorous measure — to take even a discourteous step toward
him, would be to hurry France and England into the sad-
dest variances. Can it be possible that a prince of the
blood, the brother of the King of France, does not know
how to hide an injury, even did it exist in reality, where
political necessity requires it?"

Philip made a movement.

"Besides," continued the queen, "the injury is neither
true nor possible, and it is merely a matter of silly jealousy."

"Madame, I know what I know."

"Whatever you may know, I can only advise you to be
patient."

"I am not patient by disposition, madame."

The queen rose, full of severity, and with an icy, cere-
monious manner.

TEN YEARS LATER. 113

"Explain what you really require, monsieur," she said.

"I do not require anything, niadame; I simply express
what I desire. If the Duke of Buckingham does not, of his
own accord, discontinue his visits to my apartments, I shall
forbid him an entrance."

"That is a point you will refer to the king," said Anne of
Austria, her heart swelling as she spoke, and her voice
trembling with emotion.

"But, madame," exclaimed Philip, striking his hands to-
gether, "act as my mother and not as the queen, since I
speak to you as a son; it is simply a matter of a few minutes'
coi'versation between the duke and myself."

•'It is that conversation that I forbid," said the queen,
resuming her authority, "because it is unvv'orthy of you."

"Be it so; I shall not appear in the matter, but I shall
intimate my will to madame."

"Oh!" said the queen-mother, with a melancholy arising
from reflection, "never tyrannize over a wife — never behave
too haughtily or imperiously toward yours. A woman, un-
willingly convinced, is unconvinced."

"What is to be done, then? I will consult my friends
about it."

"Yes, your hypocritical advisers, the Chevalier de Lor-
raine— your De Wardes. Intrust the conduct of the affair
to me. You wish the Duke of Buckingham to leave, do
you not?"

"As soon as possible, madame."

"Send the duke to me, then; smile upon your wife, be-
have to her, to the king, to every one, as usual. But follow
no advice but mine. Alas! I too well know what a house-
hold is which is troubled by advisers."

"You shall be obeyed, madame."

"And you will be satisfied at the result. Send the duke
to me."

"That will not be difficult."

"Where do you suppose him to be?"

"At my wife's door, whose levee he is probably awaiting."

"Very well," said Anne of Austria calmly. "Be good
enough to tell the duke that I beg him to come and see
me."

Philip kissed his mother's hand, and set off to find the
Duke of Buckingham.

114 TEN YEARS LATER.

CHAPTER XVII.

FOREVER.

The Duke of Buckingham, obedient to the queen-
mother's invitation, presented himself in her apartments
half an hour after the departure of the Due d' Orleans.
"When his name was announced by the gentleman-usher in
attendance, the queen, who was sitting with her elbow rest-
ing on a table, and her head buried in her hands, rose, and
smilingly received the graceful and respectful salutation
which the duke addressed to her. Anne of Austria was
still beautiful. It is well known that at her then somewhat
advanced age her long auburn hair, perfectly formed hands,
and bright ruby lips were still the admiration of all who
saw her. On the present occasion, abandoned entirely to a
remembrance which evoked all the past in her heart, she
was as beautiful as in the days of her youth, when her
palace was open to the visits of the Duke of Buckingham's
father, then a young and impassioned man, as well as an
unfortunate one, who lived but for her alone, and who died
with her name upon his lips. Anne of Austria fixed upon
Buckingham a look so tender in its expression that it de-
noted not alone the indulgence of maternal affection, but a
gentleness of expression like the coquetry of a woman who
loves.

"Your majesty," said Buckingham respectfully, "desired
to speak to me."

"Yes, duke," said the queen, in English; "will you be
good enough to sit dovi'n?"

The favor which Anne of Austria thus extended to the
young man, and the vv'elcome sound of the language of a
country from which the duke had been estranged since his
stay in France, deeply affected him. He immediately con-
jectured that the queen had a request to make of him.
After having abandoned the few first moments to the irre-
pressible emotions she experienced, the queen resumed the
smiling air with which she had received him.

"What do you think of France?" she said, in French.

"It is a lovely country, madame," replied the duke.

"Had you ever seen it before?"

"Once only, madame."

"But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer England?"

"I prefer my own native land to France," replied the
duke; "but if your majesty were to ask me which of the

TEN YEARS LATER. 115

two cities, London or Paris, I should prefer as a residence,
I should reply, Paris."

Anne of Austria observed the ardent manner with which
these words had been pronounced.

"I am told, my lord, you have rich possessions in your
own country, and that you live in a splendid and time-
honored palace."

"It was my father's residence," replied Buckingham,
casting down his eyes.

"Those are indeed great advantages and souvenirs," re-
plied the queen, alluding, in spite of herself, to recollec-
tions from which it is impossible voluntarily to detach one's
self.

"In fact,'' said the duke, yielding to the melancholy in-
fluence of this opening conversation, "sensitive persons live
as much in the past or the future as in the present."

"That is very true," said the queen, in a low tone of
voice. "It follows, then, my lord," she added, "that you,
who are a man of feeling, will soon quit France in order to
shut yourself uj) with your wealth and your relics of the
past."

Buckingham raised his head, and said:

"I think not, madame."

"What do you mean?"

"On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order to
take up my residence in France."

It was now Anne of Austria's turn to exhibit surprise.

"Why?" she said. "Are you not in favor with the new
king?"

"Perfectly so, madame, for his majesty's kindness to me
is unbounded."

"It cannot be," said the queen, "because your fortune
has diminished, for it is said to be enormous."

"My fortune, madame, has never been more thriving."

"There is some secret cause, then?"

"No, madame," said Buckingham eagerly; "there is
nothing secret in my reason for this determination. I like
the residence in France; I like a court so distinguished by
its refinement and courtesy; I like the amusements, some-
what serious in their nature, which are not the amusements
of my own country, and which are met with in France."

Anne of Austria smiled shrev>'dly.

"Amusements of a serious nature?" she said. "Has
your grace well reflected on their seriousness?"

The duke hesitated.

116 TEK YEARS LATER.

''There is no amusement so serious/' continued the
queen, "as should prevent a man of your rank "

"Your majesty seems to insist greatly on that point,"
interrupted the duke.

"Do you think so, my lord?"

"If your majesty will forgive me for saying so, it is the
second time you have vaunted the attractions of England
at the expense of the delight vs^hich all experience who live
in France."

Anne of Austria approached the young man, and placing
her beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at the
touch, said:

"Believe me, monsieur, nothing can equal a residence in
one's own native country. I have very frequently had occa-
sion to regret Spain. I have lived long, my lord, very long
for a woman, and I confess to you that not a year has passed
that I have not regretted Spain."

"Not one year, madame?" said the young duke coldly.
"Not one of those years when you reigned Queen of Beauty
— -as you still are, indeed?"

"A truce to flattery, duke, for I am old enough to be
your mother."

She emj)hasized these latter words in a manner and with
a gentleness which penetrated Buckingham's heart.

"Yes," she said; "I am old enough to be your mother;
and for this reason I will give you a word of advice."

"That advice being that I should return to London?"
he exclaimed.

"Yes, my lord."

The duke clasped his hands with a terrified gesture,
which could not fail of its effect upon the queen, already
disposed to softer feelings by the tenderness of her own
recollections.

"It must be so," added the queen.

"What!" he again exclaimed, "am I seriously told that
I must leave — that I must exile myself — that I am to flee at
once?"

"Exile yourself, did you say? One would fancy France
was your native country."

"Madame, the country of those who love is the country
of those whom they love."

"Not another word, my lord; you forget whom you are
addressing."

Buckingham threw himself on his knees.

"Madame, you are the source of intelligence, of goodness.

TEN YEARS LATER. 117

and of compassion; you are the first person in this kingdom,
not only by your rank, but the first person in the world on
account of your angelic attributes. I have said nothing,
madame. Have I, indeed, said anything for which you
could answer me by such a cruel remark? Can I have be-
trayed myself?"

"You have betrayed yourself," said the queen, in a low
tone of voice.

"I have said nothing — I know nothing."

"You forget you have spoken and thought in the presence
of a woman; and besides- "

"Besides," said the duke, "no one knows you are listen-
ing to me."

"On the contrary, it is known; you have all the defects
and all the qualities of youth."

"I have been betrayed or denounced, then!"

"By whom?"

"By those who, at Havre, had, with infernal perspicacity,
read my heart like an open book."

"I do not know whom you mean."

"Monsieur de Bragelonne, for instance."

"I know the name without being acquainted with the
person to whom it belongs. Monsieur de Bragelonne has
said nothing."

"Who can it be, then? If any one, madame, had had
the boldness to notice in me that which I do not myself
wish to behold "

"What would you do duke?"

"There are secrets which kill those who discover them."

"He, then, who has discovered your secret, madman that
you are, still lives; and, what is more, you will not slay
him, for he is armed on all sides; he is a husband, a jealous
man — he is the second gentleman in France — he is my son,
the Due d' Orleans."

The duke turned pale as death.

"You are very cruel, madame," he said.

"You see, Buckingham," said Anne of Austria sadly,
"how you pass from one extreme to another, and fight with
shadows, when it would seem so easy to remain at peace
with yourself."

"If we fight, madame, we die on the field of battle," re-
plied the young man gently, abandoning himself to the
most gloomy depression. Anne ran toward him and took
him by the hand.

"Villiers," she said, in English, with a vehemence of

118 TEN TEAES LATER.

tone which nothing could resist, "what is'it yon ask? Do
you ask a mother to sacrifice her son — a queen to consent to
the dishonor of her house? Child that you are, do not
think of it. Wliat! in order to spare your tears am I to
commit these two crimes? Villiers, you speak of the dead;
the dead, at least, Avere full of respect and submission; they
resigned themselves to an order of exile; they carried their
despair away with them in their hearts, like a i^riceless pos-
session, because the despair was caused by the woman they
loved, and because death, thus deceptive, was like a gift or
a favor conferred upon them."

Buckingham rose, his features distorted, and his hands
pressed against his heart.

''You are right, madame," he said, "but those of whom
you speak had received their order of exile from the lips of
the one whom they loved; they were not driven away; they
were entreated to leave, and were not laughed at."

"No," murmured Anne of Austria, "they were not for-
gotten. But who says you are driven away, or that you are
exiled? Who says that your devotion will not be remem.-
bered? I do not speak on any one's behalf but my own,
when I tell you to leave. Do me this kindness — grant me
this favor; let me, for this also, be indebted to one of your
name."

"It is for your sake, then, madame?"

"For mine alone."

"No one whom I shall leave behind me will venture to
mock — no prince even who shall say, 'I required it.' "

"Listen to me, duke;" and hereupon the dignified fea-
tures of the queen assumed a solemn expression. "I sw'ear
to you that no one commands in this matter but myself. I
swear to you that not only shall no one either laugh or
boast in any way, but no one even shall fail in the respect
due to your rank. Eely upon me, duke, as I rely upon
you."

"You do not explain yourself, madame; my heart is full
of bitterness, and I am in utter despair; no consolation,
however gentle and affectionate, can afford me relief."

"Do you remember your mother, duke?" replied the
queen, with a winning smile.

"Very slightly, madame; yet I remember how she used to
cover me with her caresses and her tears whenever I w^ept."

"Villiers," murmured the queen, passing her arm round
the young man's neck, "look upon me as your mother, and
believe that no one shall ever make my son weep."

TEN YEAKS LATER. 119

"I thank you, madame," said the young man, affected
and almost suffocated by his emotion. "I feel there is
indeed still room in my heart for a gentler and nobler
sentiment than love."

The queen-mother looked at him and pressed his hand.

"Go," she said.

"When must I leave? Command me."

"At any time that may suit you, my lord," resumed the
queen. "You will choose your own day of departure. In-
stead, however, of setting olf to-day, as you would doubtless
wish to do, or to-morrow, as others may have expected,
leave the day after to-morrow, in the evening; but announce
to-day that it is your wish to leave."

"My wish?" murmured the young duke.

"Yes, duke."

"And shall I never return to France?"

Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly ab-
sorbed in sad and serious thought. "It would be a consola-
tion for me," she said, "if you were to return on the day
when I shall be carried to my final resting-place at St.
Denis, beside the king, my husband."

"Madame, you are goodness itself; the tide of prosperity
is setting in on you; your cup brims over with happiness,
and many long years are yet before you."

"In that case, you will not come for some time, then,"
said the queen, endeavoring to smile.

"I shall not return," said Buckingham, "young as I am.
Death does not reckon my years; it is impartial; some die
young, others live on to old age."

"I will not allow any sorrowful ideas, duke. Let me
comfort you; return in two years. 1 perceive from your
face that the very ideas which sadden you so much now v.'ill
have disappeared before six months shall have passed, and
will be all dead and forgotten in the period of absence I
have assigned you,"

"I think you judged me better a little while since, ma-
dame," replied the young man, "when you said that time
is powerless against members of the family of Buckingham."

"Silence," said the queen, kissing the duke uj)on the
forehead with an affection she could not restrain. "Go,
go; spare me, and forget yourself no longer. I am the
queen; you are the subject of the King of England; King
Charles awaits your return. Adieu, Villiers — farewell."

"Forever!" replied the young man; and he fled, endeav-
oring to master his emotion.

120 TElSr YEARS LATER.

Anne leaned her head u^Don her hands, and then, looking
at herself in the glass, mnrmured:

"It has been truly said that a woman is always young,
and that the age of twenty years always lies concealed in
some secret corner of the heart."

CHAPTER XVIII.

KIJ^G LOUIS XIV. DOES NOT THINK MLLE. DE LA VALLIERE
EITHER RICH ENOUGH OR PRETTY ENOUGH FOR A GEN-
TLEMAN OF THE RANK OF THE VICOMTE DE BRAGE-
LONNE.

Raoul and the Oomte de la Fere reached Paris the even-
ing of the same day on which Buckingham had had the con-
versation with the queen-mother. The count had scarcely
arrived, when, through Raoul, he solicited an audience of
the king.

His majesty had passed a portion of the morning in look-
ing over, with madame and the ladies of the court, various
goods of Lyons manufacture, of which he had made his
sister-in-law a present. A court dinner had succeeded,
then cards, and afterward, according to his usual custom,
the king, leaving the card-tables at eight o'clock, passed
into the cabinet in order to work with Mo Colbert and M.
Fouquet. Raoul entered the antechamber at the very
moment the two ministers quitted it, and the king, perceiv-
ing him through the half-closed door, said:

"What do you want. Monsieur de Bragelonne?"

The young man approached:

"An audience, sire," he replied, "for the Comte de la
Fere, who has just arrived from Blois, and is most anxious
to have an interview with your majesty."

"I have an hour to spare between cards and my supper,"
said the king. "Is the Comte de la Fere ready?"

"He is below, and awaits your majesty's commands."

"Let him come at once," said the king; and five minutes
afterward Athos entered the presence of Louis XIV.

He was received by the king with that gracious kindness
of manner which Louis, with a tact beyond his years, re-
served for the purpose of gaining those who were not to be
conquered by ordinary favors.

"Let me hope, comte," said the king, "that you have
come to ask me for something."

TEN YEAKS LATER. 121

"1 will not conceal from your majesty," replied the
comte, "that I am indeed come for that purpose."

"That is well, then," said the king joyously.

"It is not for myself, sire."

"So much the worse; but at least, I will do for your
protege what you refuse to permit me to do for you."

"Your majesty encourages me. I have come to speak on
behalf of the Vicomte de Brageloune."

"It is the same as if you spoke on your own behalf,
comte."

"Not altogether so, sire. 1 am desirous of obtaining-
from your majesty that which I cannot do for myself. The
vicomte thinks of marrying."

"He is still very young; but that does not matter. He
is an eminently distinguished man. I will choose a wife for
him."

"He has already chosen one, sire, and only awaits your
majesty's consent."

"It is only a question, then, of signing the marriage con-
tract?"

Athos bowed.

"Has he chosen a wife whose fortune and position accord
with your own views?"

Athos hesitated for a moment.

"His affianced wife is of good birth, but has no fortune."

"That is a misfortune which we can remedy."

"You overwhelm me with gratitude, sire; but your
majesty will permit me to offer a remark,"

"Do so, comte."

"Your majesty seems to intimate an intention of giving
a marriage portion to this young girl."

"Certainly."

"I should regret, sire, if the step I have taken toward
your majesty should be attended by this result."

"No false delicacy, comte. What is the bride's name?"

"Mademoiselle la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere," said
Athos coldly,

"I seem to know that name," said the king, as if reflect-
ing; "there was a Marquis de la Valliere."

"Yes, sire; it is his daughter."

"But he died, and his widow married again Monsieur de
St. Remy, I think, steward of the dowager madame's house-
hold."

"Your majesty is correctly informed."

"More than that, the youug lady has lately become one
of the princess' maids of honor."
Dumas — Vol. X.V. 6

122 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Your majesty is better acquainted with her history than
I am."

The king again reflected, and glancing at the comte's
anxious countenance, said:

"The young lady does not seem to me to be very pretty,
comte."

"I am not quite sure," replied Athos.

"I have seen her, but she did not strike me as being so.^'

"She seems to be a good and modest girl, but has little
beauty, sire."

"Beautiful fair hair, however."

"I think so."

"And her blue eyes are tolerably good."

"Yes, sire."

"With regard to beauty, then, the match is but an ordi-
nary one. Now for the money side of the question."

"Fifteen to twenty thousand francs dowry at the very
outside, sire; the lovers are disinterested enough; for my-
self, I care little for money."

"l^'or superfluity, you mean; but a needful amount is of
importance. With fifteen thousand francs, without landed
property, a woman cannot live at court. We will make up
the deficiency; I will do it for De Bragelonne."

The king again remarked the coldness with which Athos
received the remark.

"Let us pass from the question of money to that of rank,"
said Louis XIV.; "the daughter of the Marquis de la Val-
liere, that is well enough; but there is that excellent St.
Piemy, who somewhat damages the credit of the family;
and you, comte, are rather particular, I believe, about your
own family."

"Sire, I no longer hold to anything but my devotion to
your majesty."

The king again paused.

"A moment, comte. You have surprised me in no little
degree from the beginning of your conversation. You
came to ask me to authorize a marriage, and you seem
greatly disturbed in having to make the request. Nay, par-
don me, comte, but I am rarely deceived, young as I am;
for while with some persons I place my friendship at the
disposal of my understanding, with others I call my distrust
to my aid, by which my discernment is increased. I repeat,
that you do not prefer your request as though you wished
its success."

"Well, sire, that is true."

TEN YEARS LATER. 123

"I do not undorstand you, then; refuse."

"Nay, sire; I love De Bragelonne with my whole heart;
he is smitten with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; he weaves
dreams of bliss for the future; I am not one who is willing
to destroy the illusions of youth. This marriage is objec-
tionable to me, but I implore your majesty to consent to it
forthwith, and thus make Kaoul happy."

"Tell me, compte, is she in love with him?"

"If your majesty requires me to speak candidly, I do not
believe in Mademoiselle de la Valliere's affection; the de-
light at being at court, the honor of being in the service of
madame, counteract in her head whatever affection she may
happen to have in her heart; it is a marriage similar to
many others which already exist at court; but De Brage-
lonne wishes it, and let it be so."

"And yet you do not resemble those easy-tempered fathers
who make slaves of themselves for their children," said the
king.

"I am determined enough against the viciously disposed,
but not so against men of upright character. Kaoul is
suffering, and is in great distress of mind; his disposition,
naturally light and cheerful, has become gloomy and melan-
choly. I do not wish to deprive your majesty of the serv-
ices he may be able to render."

"I understand you," said the king; "and what is more,
1 understand your heart, too, comte."

"There is no occasion, therefore," replied the comte, "to
tell your majesty that my object is to make these children,
or rather, Kaoul, happy."

"And I, too, as much as yourself, comte, wish to secure
Monsieur de Bragelonne's happiness."

"I only await your majesty's signature. Kaoul will have
the honor of presenting himself before your majesty to
receive your consent."

"You are mistaken, comte," said the king firmly; "I
have just said that I desire to secure Monsieur de Brage-
lonne's happiness, and for the present moment, therefore,
I oppose his marriage."

"But, sire," exclaimed Athos, "your majesty has
promised."

"Not so, comte; I did not promise you, for it is opposed
to my own views."

"I appreciate all your majesty's considerate and generous
intentions in my behalf; but I take the liberty of recalling
to you that I undertook to approach your majesty as an
ambassador."

1^4 TEN TEARS LATER.

"An ambassador, comte, frequently asks, but does not
always obtain what he asks."

"But, sire, it will be such a blow for De Bragelonne."

"My hand shall deal the blow; I will speak to the
vicomte."

"Love, sir, is overwhelming in its might."

"Love can be resisted, comte; I myself can assure you of
that."

"When one has the soul of a king — your own, for
instance, sire."

"Do not make yourself uneasy on the subject. I have
certain views for De Bragelonne; I do not say that he shall
not marry Mademoiselle de la Valliere, but I do not wish
him to marry so young; I do not wish him to marry her
until she has acquired a fortune; and he, on his side, no
less deserves my favor, such as I wish to confer upon him.
In a word, comte, I wish them to wait."

"Yet once more, sire."

"Comte, you told me you came to request a favor."

"Assuredly, sire."

"Grant me one, then, instead; let us speak no longer
upon this matter. It is probable that before long war may
be declared; I require men about me who are unfettered.
I should hesitate to send under a fire a married man, or a
father of a family; I should hesitate also, on De Brage-
loune's account, to endow with a -fortune, without some
sound reason for it, a young girl, a perfect stranger; such
an act would sow jealousy among my nobility."

Athos bowed, and remained silent.

"Is that all you had to ask me?" added Louis XIV.

"Absolutely all, sire; and I take my leave of your
majesty. Is it, however, necessary that I should inform
Eaoul?"

"Spare yourself the trouble and annoyance. Tell the
vicomte that at my levee to-morrow morning I will speak
to him; I shall expect you this evening, comte, to join my
card-table."

"I am in traveling costume, sire."

"A day will come, I hope, when you will leave me no
more. Before long, comte, the monarchy will be established
in such a manner as to enable me to offer a worthy hospital-
ity to all men of your merit."

"Provided, sire, a monarch reigns truly great in the
hearts of his subjects, the palace he inhabits matters little,
since he is worshiped in a temple."

TEN YEARS LATER. 135

With these words Athos left the cabinet, and found De
Bragelonue, who awaited his return.

''Well, monsieur?" said the young man.

"The king, Eaoul, is well disposed toward us both; not,
perhaps, in the sense you suppose, but he is kind, and
generously disposed for our house."

"You have bad news to communicate to me, monsieur,"
said the young man, turning very pale.

"The king will himself inform you to-morrow morning
that it is not bad news."

"The king has not signed, however?"

"The king wishes himself to settle the terms of the con-
tract, and he desires to make it so grand that he requires
time for it. Throw the blame rather on your own impa-
tience than on the king's good feeling toward you."

Eaoul, in utter consternation, both on account of his
knowledge of the count's frankness as well as of his tact,
remained plunged in a dull, heavy stupor.

"Will you not go with me to my lodgings?" said Athos.

"I beg your pardon, monsieur; I Avill follow you," he
stammered out, following Athos down the staircase.

"Since I am here," said Athos suddenly, "cannot I see
Monsieur d'Artagnan?"

"Shall I show you his apartments?" said De Bragelonne.

"Do so."

"It is on the other staircase."

They altered their course, but as they reached the land-
ing of the grand staircase Eaoul perceived a servant in the
Comte de Guiche's livery, who ran toward him as soon as
he heard his voice.

"What is it?" said Eaoul.

"This note, monsieur. My master heard of your return,
and wrote to you without delay; I have been seeking you
for the last hour."

Eaoul approached Athos as he unsealed the letter, saying:

"With your permission, monsieur."

"Certainly."

"Dear Eaoul," said the Comte de Guiche, "I have an
affair in hand which requires immediate attention; I know
you have returned; come to me as soon as possible."

Hardly had he finished reading it when a servant in the
livery of the Duke of Buckingham, turning out of the gal-
lery, recognized Eaoul, and approached him respectfully,
saying:

"From his grace, monsieur."

126 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Well, Raoul, as I see you are already as busy as a general
of an army, I shall leave you, and will find Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan myself."

"You will excuse me, I trust," said Eaoul.

"Yes, yes, I excuse you; adieu, Eaoul, You will find me
at my apartments until to-morrow; during the day I may
set out for Blois, unless 1 have orders to the contrary."

"I shall present my respects to you to-morrow, monsieur."

When Athos had left, Raoul opened Buckingham's letter.

"Monsieur de Bragelonne," said the duke, "you are, of
all the Frenchmen I have known, the one with whom I am
most pleased; I am about to put your friendship to the
proof. I have received a certain message, written in very
good French. As 1 am an Englishman, I am afraid of not
comprehending it very clearly. The letter has a good name
attached to it, and that is all I can tell you. Will you be
good enough to come and see me? for I am told you have
arrived from Blois. Your devoted,

"ViLLiERS, Duke of Buckingham."

"I am going now to see your master," said Raoul to De
Guiche's servant as he dismissed him; "and I shall be with
the Duke of Buckingham in an hour," he added, dismiss-
ing with these words the duke's messenger.

CHAPTER XIX.

SWORD-THRUSTS IIST THE WATER.

Raoul, on betaking himself to De Guiche, found him
conversing with De Wardes and Manicamp. De Wardes,
since the affair of the barricade, had treated Raoul as a
stranger. It might have been imagined that nothing at all
had passed between them; only they behaved as if they
were not acquainted. As Raoul entered, De Guiche walked
up to him, and Eaoul, as he grasped his friend's hand,
glanced rapidly at his two young companions, hoping to be
able to read on their faces what was passing in their minds.
De Wardes was cold and impenetrable, and Manicamp
seemed absorbed in the contemplation of some trimming to
his dress. De Guiche led Raoul to an adjoining cabinet,
and made him sit down, saying:

"How well you look!"

TEN YEARS LATER. 127

"That is singular," replied Raoul, "for I am far from
being in good spirits."

"It is your case, then, Eaoul, as it is my own, that your
love affair does not progress satisfactorily."

"So much the better, conite, as far as you are concerned;
the worst news, that indeed which would distress me most
of all, would be good news."

"In that case, do not distress yourself, for not only am
I very unhappy, but what is more, I see others about me
who are happy."

"Really, I do not understand you," replied Raoul; "ex-
plain yourself."

"You will soon learn. I have tried, but in vain, to over-
come the feeling which you saw dawn in me, increase in me,
and take such entire possession of my whole being. I have
summoned all your advice and all my own strength to my
aid. I have well weighed the unfortunate affair in which I
have embarked; I have sounded its depths; that it is an
abyss, I am well aware, but it matters little^ for / shall pur-
sue my own course."

"This is madness, De Guiche; you cannot advance an-
other step without risking your own ruin to-day, perhaps
your life to-morrow."

"Whatever may happen, I have done with reflections.
Listen."

"And you hope to succeed; you believe that madame will
love you?"

"Eaoul, I believe nothing; I hope, because hope exists in
man, and never abandons him till he dies."

"But, admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet,
even then you are more certainly lost than if you had
failed in obtaining it."

"I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more;
you could never convince me, for I tell you beforehand I
do not wish to be convinced; I have gone so far that I can-
not recede; I have suffered so much that death itself would
be a boon. I no longer love to madness, Raoul, I am in a
perfect rage of jealousy."

Raoul struck both his hands together with an expression
resembling anger.

"Well?" said he.

"Well or ill, matters little. This is what I claim from
you, my friend, my almost brother. During the last three
days madame has been living in a perfect intoxication of
gayety. On the first day I dared not look at her; I hated

128 TEN YEAES LATER.

her for not having been as unhappy as myself. The next
day I could not bear her out of my sight; and she, Raoul —
at least I thought I remarked it — she looked at me, if not
with pity, at least with gentleness. But between her looks
and mine a shadow intervened; another's smile invited her
smile. Beside her horse another's always gallops, which is
not mine; in her ear another's caressing voice, not mine, un-
ceasingly vibrates. Eaoul, for three days past my brain has
been on fire; fire courses through my veins. That shadow
must be driven away, that smile must be quenched, that
voice must be silenced."

''You wish Monsieur's death?" exclaimed Eaoul.

"No, no; I am not jealous of the husband; I am jealous
of the lover."

"Of the lover?" said Eaoul.

"Have you not observed it, you who were formerly so
keen-sighted?"

"Are you jealous of the Duke of Buckingham?"

"To the very death!"

"Again jealous?"

"This time the affair will be easy to arrange between us;
I have taken the initiative, and have sent him a letter."

"It was you, then, who wrote to him?"

"How do you know that?"

"I know it, because he told me so. Look at this;" and
he handed to De Guiche the letter which he had received
nearly at the same moment as his own. De Guiche read it
eagerly, and said:

"He is a brave man, and more than that, a gallant man."

"Most certainly, the duke is a gallant man; I need not
ask if you wrote to him in a similar style."

"I will show you my letter when you call on him on my
behalf."

"But that is almost out of the question."

"What is?"

"That I should call on him for that purpose."

"Why so?"

"The duke consults me as you do."

"I suppose yott will give me the preference. Listen to
me, Raoul; I wish you to tell his grace — it is a very simple
matter — that to-day, to-morrow, the following day, or any
other day he mav choose, I wish to meet him at Vincennes."

"Eeflect, De Guiche."

"I thought I had already said that I had reflected."

"The duke is a stranger here; he is on a mission which

TEN YEARS LATER. 129

renders his person inviolable. . . . Vincennes is close
to the Bastile."

"The consequences concern me."

"But the motive for this meeting. What motive do you
wish me to assign?"

"Be perfectly easy on that score; he will not ask any.
The duke must be as sick of me as I am of him. I implore
you, therefore, to seek the duke, and if it is necessary to
entreat him to accept my offer, I will do so."

"That is useless. The duke has already informed me
that he wishes to speak to me. The duke is now playing
cards with the king. Let us both go there. I will draw
him aside in the gallery; you will remain aloof. Two words
will be sufficient."

"That is well arranged. I shall take De Wardes to keep
me in countenance."

"Why not Manicamp? De Wardes can rejoin us at any
time; we can leave him here."

"Yes, that is true."

"He knows nothing?"

"Positively nothing. You continue still on an unfriendly
footing, then?"

"Has he not told you anything?"

"Nothing."

"I do not like the man, and, as I never liked him, the
result is, that I am on no worse terms with him to-day than
I was yesterday."

"Let us go, then."

The four descended the stairs. De Guiche's carriage was
waiting at the door, and took them to the Palais Koyal.
As they were going along Raoul was engaged in framing
some scheme. The sole depository of two secrets, he did
not despair of concluding some arrangement between the
two parties. He knew the influence he exercised over
Buckingham, and the ascendency he had acquired over De
Guiche, and affairs did not look utterly despairing to him.
On their arrival in the gallery, dazzling with the blaze of
light, where the most beautiful and illustrious women of
the court moved to and fro, like stars in their atmosphere
of light, Raoul could not prevent himself for a moment
forgetting De Guiche, in order to seek out Louise, who,
amid her companions, like a dove completely fascinated,
gazed long and fixedly upon the royal circle, which glittered
with jewels and gold. All the members of it w^ere standing,
the king alone being seated. Raoul perceived Buckingham,

130 TE]Sr TEARS LATEE.

who was standing a few paces from Monsieur, in a group of
French and English, who were admiring his haughty car-
riage and the incomparable magnificence of his costume.
Some few of the older courtiers remembered having seen
the father, and their remembrance was in noway prejudicial
to the son.

Buckingham was conversing with Fouquet, who was talk-
ing with him aloud of Belle-Isle.

''I cannot speak to him at present," said Raoul.

"Wait, then, and choose your opportunity, but finish
everything speedily. I am on thorns."

"See, our deliverer approaches," said Eaoul, perceiving
D'Artagnan, who, magnificently dressed in his new uniform
of captain of the musketeers, had just made his victorious
entry in the gallery; and he advanced toward D'Artagnan.

"The Comte de la Fere has been looking for you, cheva-
lier," said Eaoul.

"Yes," replied D'Artagnan; "I have just left him."

"I thought you would have passed a portion of the even-
ing together."

"We have arranged to meet again."

As he answered Raoul his absent looks were directed on
all sides, as if seeking some one in the crowd, or looking
for something in the room. Suddenly his gaze became
fixed, like that of an eagle on its prey. Eaoul followed the
direction of his glance, and noticed that De Guiche and
D'Artagnan saluted each other, but he could not distinguish
at whom the captain's inquiring and haughty glance was
directed.

"Chevalier," said Eaoul, "there is no one here but your-
self who can render me a service."

"What is it, my dear vicomte?"

"It is simply to go and interrupt the Duke of Bucking-
ham, to whom I wish to say two words, and, as the duke is
conversing with Monsieur Fouquet, you understand that it
would not do for me to throw myself into the middle of the
conversation."

"Ah I ah! is Monsieur Fouquet there?" inquired D'Ar-
tagnan.

"Do you not see him?"

"Yes, now I do. But do you think I have a greater right
than you have?"

"You are a far more important personage."

"Yes, you're right; I am captain of the musketeers; I
have had the post promised me so long, and have enjoyed

TEN YEAliS LATER. 131

its dignity for so brief a period, that I am always forgetting
my dignity."

''You will do me this service, will you not?"

"Monsieur Fouquet — the deucel"

"Are you not on good terms with him?"

"It is rather he who may not be on good terms with me;
however, since it must be done some day or another "

"Stay; I think he is looking at you; or is it likely that it
might be "

"No, no; don't deceive yourself; it is indeed me for
whom this honor is intended."

"The opportunity is a good one, then."

"Do you think so?"

"Pray, go!"

"Well, I will."

De Guiche had not removed his eyes from Raoul, who
made a sign to him that all was arranged. D'Artagnan
walked straight up to the group, and civilly saluted M.
Fouquet as well as the others.

"Good-evening, Monsieur d'Artagnan; we were speaking
of Belle-Isle," said Fouquet, with that usage of society,
and that perfect knowledge of the language of looks, which
require half a lifetime thoroughly to acquire, and which
some persons, notwithstanding all their study, never attain.

"OfBelle-Isle-en-Mer! Ah! ah!" said D'Artagnan. "It
belongs to you, I believe, Monsieur Fouquet?"

"Monsieur Fouquet has just told me that he had pre-
sented it to the king," said Buckingham.

"Do you know Belle-Isle, chevalier?" inquired Fouquet.

"I have only been there once," replied D'Artagnan, with
readiness and good-humor.

"Did you remain there long?"

"Scarcely a day."

"Did you see much of it while you were there?"

"All that could be seen in a day."

"A great deal can be seen with observation as keen as
yours," said Fouquet; at which D'Artagnan bowed.

During this Raoul made a sign to Buckingham.

"Monsieur Fouquet," said Buckingham, "I leave the
captain with you; he is more learned than I am in bastions,
and scarps, and counter-scarps, and I will join one of my
friends, who has just beckoned to me."

Saying this, Buckingham disengaged himself from the
group, and advanced toward Eaoul, stopping for a moment
at the table where the queen-mother, the young queen, and
the king were playing together.

132 TEN YEARS LATER.

'"iSrow, Raoiil," said De Guiclie, "there he is; be firm
and quick,"

Buckingham, having made some complimentary remark
to madame, continued his way toward Eaoul, who advanced
to meet him, while De Guiche remained in his place, though
he followed him with his eyes. The maneuver was so
arranged that the young men met in an open space which
was left vacant, between the group of players and the gal-
lery, where they walked, sto^Dping now and then for the
purpose of saying a few words to some of the graver cour-
tiers who were talking there. At the moment when the
two lines were about to unite, they were broken by a third.
It was Monsieur who advanced toward the Duke of Buck-
ingham. Monsieur had his most engaging smile on his red
and perfumed lips.

"My dear duke," said he, with the most affectionate
politeness, "is it really true what I have just been told?"

Buckingham turned round; he had not noticed Monsieur
approach, but had merely heard his voice. He started, in
spite of his command over himself, and a slight pallor over-
spread his face.

"Monseigneur," he asked, "what has been told you that
surprises you so much?"

"That which throws me into despair, and will, in truth,
be a real cause of mourning for the whole court."

"Your highness is very kind, for I perceive that you
allude to my departure."

"Precisely."

Guiche had overheard the conversation from where he
was standing, and started in his turn.

"His departure," he murmured. "What does he say?"

Philip continued with the same gracious air:

"I can easily conceive, monsieur, why the King of Great
Britain recalls you; we all know that King Charles II., who
appreciates true gentlemen, cannot dispense with you.
But it cannot be supposed v/e can let you go without great
regret; and I beg you to receive the expression of my own."

"Believe me, monseigneur," said the duke, "that if I
quit the Court of France "

"It is because you are recalled; but if you should suppose
that the expression of my own wish on the subject might
possibly have some influence with the king, I will gladly
volunteer to entreat His Majesty Charles II. to leave you
with us a little while longer."

"I am overwhelmed, monseigneur, by so much kindness,"

TEN" YEARS LATER. 133

replied Buckingham; ''but I have received positive com-
mands. My residence in France was limited; I have pro-
longed it at the risk of displeasing my gracious sovereign.
It is only this very day that I recollected I ought to have
set oil four days ago."

"Indeed," said Monsieur.

"Yes, but," added Buckingham, raising his voice in such
a manner that the princess could hear him — "but I resemble
that dweller in the East, who turned mad, and remained so
for several days, owing to a delightful dream that he had
had, and who one day awoke, if not completely cured, in
some respects rational at least. The Court of France has
its intoxicating properties, which are not unlike this dream,
my lord; but at last I wake and leave it. I shall be unable,
therefore, to prolong my residence as your highness has so
kindly invited me."

"When do you leave?" inquired Philip, with an expres-
sion full of interest.

"To-morrow, monseigneur. My carriages have been
ready for three days past."

The Due d'Orleans made a movement of the head, Avhich
seemed to signify, "Since you are determined, duke, there
is nothing to be said." Buckingham returned the gesture,
concealing under a smile a contraction of his heart, and
then Monsieur moved away in the same direction by which
he had approached. At the same moment, however, De
Guiche advanced from the opposite direction. Eaoul feared
that the impatient young man might possibly make the
proposition himself, and hurried forward before him.

"No, no, Eaoul, all is useless now," said Guiche, holding
both his hands toward the duke, and leading him himself
behind a column. "Forgive me, duke, for what I wrote to
you; I was mad. Give me back my letter."

"It is true," said the duke, "you cannot owe me a
grudge any longer now."

"Forgive me, duke; my friendship, my lasting friendship
is yours."

"There is certainly no reason why you should bear me
any ill-will from the moment I leave her never to see her
again."

Eaoul heard these words, and comprehending that his
presence was now useless between the two young men, who
had now only friendly words to exchange, withdrew a few
paces; a movement which brought him closer to De Wardes,
who v^^as conversing with the Chevalier de Lorraine respect-
ing the departure of Buckingham.

IM TEN YEARS LATER.

"A wise retreat," said De Wardes.

"Why so?"

"Because the dear duke saves a sword-thrust by it."'

At which reply both began to laugh.

Eaoul, indignant, turned round frowningly, flushed with
anger and his lii) curling with disdain. The Chevalier de
Lorraine turned away upon his heel, but De Wardes re-
mained firm and waited.

"You will not break yourself of the habit," said Eaoul
to De Wardes, "of insulting the absent; yesterday it was
Monsieur d'Artagnan, to-day it is the Duke of Bucking-
ham."

"You know very well, monsieur," return De Wardes,
"that I sometimes insult those who are present."

De Wardes touched Eaoul, their shoulders met, their
faces were bent toward each other, as if mutually to inflame
each other by the fire of their breath and of their anger. It
could be seen that the one was at the height of his anger,
the other at the end of his patience. Suddenly a voice was
heard behind them full of grace and courtesy, saying:

"I believe I heard my name pronounced."

They turned round and saw D'Artagnan, who, with a
smiling eye and a cheerful face, had just placed his hand
on De Wardes' shoulder. Eaoul stepped back to make
room for the musketeer. De Wardes trembled from head
to foot, turned pale, but did not move. D'Artagnan, still
with the same smile, took the place which Eaoul abandoned
to him.

"Thank you, my dear Eaoul," he said. "Monsieur de
Wardes, I wish to talk with you. Do not leave us, Eaoul;
every one can hear what I have to say to Monsieur de
Wardes."

His smile immediately faded away, and his glance be-
came cold and sharp as a sn'ord.

"I am at your orders, monsieur," said De Wardes.

"For a very long time," resumed D'Artagnan, "I have
sought an opportunity of conversing with you; to-day is the
first time I have found it. The place is badly chosen, I
admit, but you will, perhaps, have the goodness to accom-
pany me to my apartments, which are on the staircase at
the end of this gallery."

"I follow you, monsieur," said De Wardes.

"Are you alone here?" said D'Artagnan.

"No; I have Monsieur Manicamp and Monsieur de
Guiche, two of my friends."

TEN TEAKS LATER. 135

"That's well," said D'Artagnan; ''but two persons are
not sufficient; you will be able to find a few others, I trust."

"Certainly," said the yonng man, who did not know the
object D'Artagnan had in view. "As many as you please."

"Are they friends.*"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Keal friends?"

"No doubt of it."

"Very well; get a good supply, then. Do you come, too,
Eaoul; bring Monsieur de Guiche and the Duke of Buck-
ingham."

"What a disturbance," replied De Wardes, attempting to
smile. The captain slightly signed to him with his hand,
as though to recommend him to be patient, and then led
the way to his apartments.

CHAPTER XX.

SWORD-THRUSTS IN THE WATER (CONCLUDED).

D'Artagnan's apartment was not unoccupied; for the
Comte de la Fere, seated in the recess of a window, awaited
him.

"Well," said he to D'Artagnan, as he saw him enter.

"Well," said the latter, "Monsieur de Wardes has done
me the honor to pay me a visit, in company with some of
his own friends, as well as of ours." In fact, behind the
musketeer appeared De Wardes and Manicamp, followed by
De Guiche and Buckingham, who looked surprised, not
knowing what was expected of them. Eaoul was accom-
panied by two or three gentlemen; and, as he entered,
glanced round the room, and perceiving the comte, he went
and placed himself by his side. D'Artagnan received his
visitors with all the courtesy he was capable of; he preserved
his unmoved and unconcerned look. All the persons pres-
ent were men of distinction, occupying posts of honor and
credit at the court. After he had apologized to each of
them for any inconvenience he might have put them to, he
turned toward De Wardes, who, in spite of his great self-
command, could not prevent his face betraying some sur-
prise mingled with not a little uneasiness.

"Now, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, "since we are no
longer within the precincts of the king's palace, and since
we can speak out without failing in respect to propriety, I

136 TEN YEARS LATER.

will inform you why I have taken the liberty to request you
to visit me here, and why I have invited these gentlemen to
be present at the same time. My friend, the Comte de la
Fere, has acquainted me with the injurious reports you are
spreading about myself. You have stated that you regard
me as your mortal enemy, because I was, so you affirm, that
of your father,"

"Perfectly true, monsieur; I have said so," replied De
Wardes, whose pallid face became slightly tinged with color.

"You accuse me, therefore, of a crime, or a fault, or of
some mean and cowardly act. Have the goodness to state
your charge against me in precise terms."

"In the presence of witnesses?"

"Most certainly in the presence of witnesses, and you see
I have selected them as being experienced in affairs of
honor."

"You do not appreciate my delicacy, monsieur. I have
accused you, it is true; but I have kept the nature of the
accusatioii a perfect secret. I have not entered into any
details; but have rested satisfied by expressing my hatred
in the presence of those on whom a duty was almost im-
posed to acquaint you with it. You have not taken the
discreetness I have shown into consideration, although you
were interested in remaining silent. I can hardly recognize
yonr habitual prudence in that, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan, who was quietly biting the corner of his
mustache, said:

"I have already had the honor to beg you to state the
particulars of the grievances you say you have against me."

"Aloud?"

"Certainly, aloud."

"In that case I will speak."

"Speak, monsieur," said D'Artagnan, bowing; "we are
dll listening to you."

"Well, monsieur, it is not a question of a personal injury
toward myself, but of one toward my father."

"That you have already stated."

"Yes; but there are certain subjects which are only
approached with great hesitation."

"If that hesitation, in your case, really does exist, I
entreat you to overcome it."

"Even if it refer to a disgraceful action?"

"Yes; in every and any case."

Those who were present at this scene had at first looked
at one another with a good deal of uneasiness. They were

TEN YEARS LATER. 137

reassured, however, '.vhen they saw that D'Artagnan mani-
fested no emotion whatever. De Wardes still maintained
the same unbroken silence.

"Speak, monsieur," said the musketeer; "you see you
are keeping us waiting."

"Listen, then: My father loved a woman of noble birth,
and this woman loved my father."

D'Artagnan and Athos exchanged looks. De Wardes
continued:

"Monsieur d'Artagnan found some letters which indicated
a rendezvous, substituted himself, under disguise, for the
person who Avas expected, and took advantage of the dark-
ness."

"That is perfectly true," said D'Artagnan.

A slight murmur was heard from those present.

"Yes, I Avas guilty of that dishonorable action. You
should have added, monsieur, since you are so impartial,
that, at the period when the circumstance which you Jiave
just related happened, I was not twenty-one years of age."

"The action is not the less shameful on that account,"
said De Wardes; "and it is quite sufficient for a gentleman
to have attained the age of reason, to avoid committing any
act of indelicacy."

A renewed murmur was heard, but this time of astonish-
ment, and almost of doubt.

"It was a most shameful deception, I admit," said D'Ar-
tagnan, "and I have not waited for Monsieur de Wardes'
reproaches to rejDroach myself for it, and very bitterly, too.
Age has, however, made me more reasonable, and, above
all, more upright; and this injury has been atoned for by a
long and lasting regret. But I appeal to you, gentlemen;
this affair took place in 1626, at a period, happily for your-
selves, known to you by tradition only, at a period when
love was not overscrupiTlous, when consciences did not dis-
till, as in the present day, poison and bitterness. We were
young soldiers, always fighting, or being attacked, our
swords always in our hands, or at least ready to be drawn
from their sheaths. Death then always stared us in the
face, war hardened us, and the cardinal pressed us sorely.
I have repented of it, and, more than that — I still repent
it. Monsieur de Wardes."

"I can well understand that, monsieur, for the action
itself needed repentance; but you were not the less the
cause of that lady's disgrace. She of whom you have been
speaking, covered with shame, borne down by the ailront

138 TEK YEARS LATER.

you had wrought upon her, fled, quitted France, and no
one ever knew what became of her."

"Stay," said the Comte de la Fere, stretching his hand
toward De Wardes, with a peculiar smile upon his face,
"you are mistaken; she was seen, and there are persons
even now present, who, having often heard her spoken of,
will easily recognize her by the description I am about to
give. She was about twenty-five years of age, slender in
form, of a pale complexion, and fair-haired; she was mar-
ried in England."

"Married?" exclaimed De Wardes.

"So, you were not aware she was married? You see, we
are far better informed than yourself. Do you happen to
know she was usually styled 'my lady,' without the addi-
tion of any name to that description?"

"Yes, I know that."

"Good heavens!" murmured Buckingham.

"Very well, monsieur. That woman, who came from
England, returned to England after having thrice attempted
Monsieur d'Artagnan's life. That was but just, you will
say, since Monsieur d'Artagnan had insulted her. But
that which was not just was that, when in England, this
woman, by her seductions, completely enslaved a young
man in the service of Lord Winter, by name Felton. You
change color, my lord," said Athos, turning to the Duke
of Buckingham, "and your eyes kindle with anger and sor-
row. Let your grace finish the recital, then, and tell Mon-
sieur de Wardes who this woman was who placed the knife
in the hand of your father's murderer."

A cry escaped from the lips of all present. The young
duke passed his handkerchief across his forehead, Avhich was
covered with perspiration. A dead silence ensued among
the spectators.

"You see, Monsieur de Wardes," said D'Artagnan, whom
this recital had impressed more and more, as his own recol-
lection revived as Athos spoke, "you see that my crime did
not cause the destruction of any one's soul, and that the
soul in question may fairly be considered to have been alto-
gether lost before my regret. It is, however, an act of con-
science on my part. Now this matter is settled, therefore,
it remains for me to ask, with the greatest humility, your
forgiveness for this shameless action, as most certainly I
should have asked it of your father, if he were still alive,
and if I had met him after my return to France, subsequent
to the death of King Charles I."

TEN YEARS LATER. 139

"That is too much. Monsieur d'Artagnaii," exclaimed
many voices, with animation.

"No, gentlemen," said the captain. "And now. Mon-
sieur de Wardes, I hope all is finished between us, and that
you will have no further occasion to speak ill of me again.
Do you consider it completely settled?"

De Wardes bowed, and muttered to himself inarticulately.

"I trust also," said D'Artagnan, approaching the young
man closely, "that you will no longer speak ill of any one,
as it seems you have the unfortunate habit of doing; for a
man so puritanically conscientious as you are, who can
reproach an old soldier for a youthful freak thirty-five
years after it has happened, will allow me to ask whether
you, who advocate such excessive purity of conscience, will
undertake, on your side, to do nothing contrary either to
conscience or a principle of honor. And now, listen atten-
tively to what I am going to say, Monsieur de Wardes, in
conclusion. Take care that no tale, with which your name
may be associated, reaches my ear."

"Monsieur," said De Wardes, "it is useless threatening
to no purpose."

"I have not yet finished. Monsieur de Wardes; and you
must listen to me still further."

The circle of listeners, full of eager curiosity, drew closer
together.

"You spoke just now of the honor of a woman, and of
the honor of your father. We were glad to hear you speak
in that manner; for it is pleasing to think that such a senti-
ment of delicacy and rectitude, and which did not exist, it
seems, in our minds, lives in our children; and it is delight-
ful, too, to see a young man, at an age when men, from
habit, become the destroyers of the honor of women, respect
and defend it."

De Wardes bit his lip and clinched his hands, evidently
much disturbed to learn how this discourse, the commence-
ment of which was announced in so threatening a manner,
would terminate.

"How did it happen, then, that you allowed yourself to
say to Monsieur de Bragelonne that he did not know who
his mother was?"

Eaoul's eye flashed, as, darting forward, he exclaimed:

"Chevalier, this is a personal affair of my own!"

At which exclamation a smile, full of malice, passed
across De Wardes' face. D'Artagnan put Eaoui aside,
saying:

140 TEN" YEAES LATER.

"Do not interrupt me, young man." And looking at
De Wardes in an authoritative manner, he continued: "I
am now dealing with a matter which cannot be settled by-
means of the sword. I discuss it before men of honor, all
of whom have more than once had their swords in their
hands in affairs of honor. I selected them expressly. These
gentlemen well know that every secret for which men fight
ceases to be a secret. I again put my question to Monsieur
de Wardes. What was the subject of conversation when
you offended this young man, in offending his father and
mother at the same time?"

"It seems to me," returned De Wardes, "that liberty of
speech is allowed, when it is ready to be supported by every
means which a man of courage has at his disposal."

"Tell me what the means are by which a man of courage
can sustain a slanderous expression."

"The sword."

"You fail, not only in logic, in your argument, but in
religion and honor. You expose the lives of many others,
without referring to your own, which seems to be full of
hazard. Besides, fashions pass away, monsieur, and the
fashion of dueling has passed away, without referring in
any way to the edicts of his majesty, which forbid it.
Therefore, in order to be consistent with your own chival-
rous notions, you will at once apologize to Monsieur de
Bragelonne; you will tell him how much you regret having
spoken so lightly, and that the nobility and purity of his
race are inscribed, not in his heart alone, but, still more, in
every action of his life. You will do and say this, Monsieur
de AVardes, as I, an old officer, did and said just now to
your boy's mustache."

"And if I refuse?" inquired De Wardes.

"In that case the result will be "

"That which you think you will prevent," said De
Wardes, laughing; "the result will be that your conciliatory
address will end in a violation of the king's prohibition."

"Not so," said the captain; "you are quite mistaken."

"What will be the result, then?"

"The result will be that I shall go to the king, with whom
I am on tolerably good terms, to whom I have been happy
enough to render certain services, dating from a period
when you were not born, and who, at my request, has just
sent me an order blank for Monsieur Baisemeaux de Mon-
tlezun, governor of the Bastile; and I shall say to the king:
'Sire, a man has cowardly insulted Monsieur de Bragelonne

TEN YEARS LATEll. 141

in insulting his mother; I have written this man's name
upon the lettre de cachet which your majesty has been kind
enough to give me, so that Monsieur de Wardes is in the
Bastile for three years.' "

And D'Artagnan, drawing the order signed by the king
from his pocket, held it toward De Wardes. Eemarkiug
that the young man was not quite convinced, and received
the warning as an idle threat, he shrugged his shoulders,
and walked leisurely toward the table upon which lay a
writing-case and a pen, the length of which would have
terrified the topographical Porthos. De Wardes then saw
that nothing could well be more seriously intended than
the threat in question, for the Bastile, even at that period,
was already held in dread. He advanced a step toward
Eaoul, and, in almost unintelligible voice, said:

"I offer my apologies in the terms which Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan just now dictated, and which I am forced to make
to you."

"One moment, monsieur," said the musketeer, with the
greatest tranquillity, "you mistake the terms of the apology.
I did not say, 'and which I am forced to make;' I said,
'and which my conscience induces me to make.' This lat-
ter expression, believe me, is better than the former, and it
will be far preferable, since it will be the most truthful
expression of your own sentiments."

"I subscribe to it," said De Wardes; "but admit, gentle-
men, that a thrust of a sword through the body, as was the
custom formerly, was far better than tyranny like this."

"No, monsieur," replied Buckingham; "for the sword-
thrust, when received, was no indication that a particular
person was right or wrong; it only showed that he was
more or less skillful in the use of the weapon."

"Monsieur I" exclaimed De Wardes.

"There, noAv," interrupted D'Artagnan, "you are going
to say something very rude, and I am rendering you a
service in stopping you in time."

"Is that all, monsieur?" inquired De Wardes.

"Absolutely everything," replied D'Artagnan; "and
these gentlemen, as well as myself, are quite satisfied with
you."

"Believe me, monsieur, that your reconciliations are not
successful."

"In what way?"

"Because, as we are now about to separate, I would wager

142 TEN" TEARS LATER.

that Monsieur de Bragelonne and myself are greater
enemies than ever."

''You are deceived, monsieur, as far as I am concerned,"
returned Eaoul; "for I do not retain the slightest animos-
ity in my heart against you."

This last blow overwhelmed De Wardes; he cast his eyes
around him like a man utterly bewildered. D'Artagnan
saluted most courteously the gentlemen who had been
present at the explanation; and every one, on leaving the
room, shook hands with him; but not one hand was held
out toward De Wardes.

"Oh!" exclaimed the young man, abandoning himself to
the rage which consumed him, "can I not find some one on
whom to "wreak my vengeance?"

"You can, monsieur, for I am here," whispered a voice
full of menace, in his ear.

De Wardes turned round, and saw the Duke of Bucking-
ham, who, having probably remained behind with that in-
tention, had just approached him.

"You, monsieur?" exclaimed De Wardes.

"Yes, I! I am no subject of the King of France; I am
not going to remain on the territory, since I am about set-
ting oS for England. I haveaccumulated"in my heart such
a mass of despair and rage that I, too, like yourself, need
to revenge myself upon some one. I approve Monsieur
d'Artagnan's principles extremely, but I am not bound to
apply them to you. I am an Englishman, and, in my turn,
I propose to you what you proposed to others to no purpose.
Since you, therefore, are so terribly incensed, take me as a
remedy. In thirty-four hours' time I shall be at Calais.
Come with me; the journey will appear shorter if together
than if alone. We will fight, when we get there, upon the
sands which are covered by the rising tide, and which form
part of the French territory during six hours of the day,
but belong to the territory of heaven during the other six."

"I accept willingly," said De Wardes.

"I assure you," said the duke, "that if you kill me you
will be rendering me an infinite service."

"I will do my utmost to be agreeable to you, duke," said
De Wardes.

"It is agreed, then, that I carry you ofiE with me?"

"I shall be at your commands. I required some real
danger and some mortal risk to run to tranquilize me." '

"In that case, I think you have met with what you are
looking for. Farewell, Monsieur de Wardes; to-morrow

TEN YEARS LATER. l43

morning my valet will tell you the exact hour of departure;
we can travel together like two excellent friends. I gener-
ally travel as fast as I can. Adieu."

Buckingham saluted De Wardes, and returned toward
the king's apartments; De Wardes, irritated beyond meas-
ure, left the Palais Royal, and hurried through the streets
homeward to the house where he lodged.

CHAPTER XXL

BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUN".

After the rather severe lesson administered to De
Wardes, Athos and D'Artagnan "together descended the
staircase which led to the courtyard of the Palais Royal.

"You perceive," said Athos to D'Artagnan, "that Raoul
cannot, sooner or later, avoid a duel with De Wardes, for
De AYardes is as brave as he is vicious and wicked."

"I know these fellows well," replied D'Artagnan; "I
have had an affair with the father. I assure you that, al-
though all that time I had good muscles and a sort of brute
courage — I assure you the father did me some mischief.
But you should have seen how I fought it out with him.
Ah, Athos, such encounters never take place in these times.
I had a hand which could never remain at rest, a hand like
quicksilver — you knew its quality, for you have seen me at
work. My sword was no longer a piece of steel; it was a
serpent which assumed every form and every length, seek-
ing where it might thrust its head; in other words, where
it might fix its bite. I advanced half a dozen paces, then,
three, and then, body to body, I pressed my antagonist
closely, then I darted back again ten paces. No human
130wer could resist that ferocious ardor. Well, De Wardes,
the father, with the bravery of his race, with his dogged
courage, occupied a good deal of my time; and my fingers,
at the end of the engagement, were, I well remember, tired
enough."

"It is, then, as I said," resumed Athos, "the son v.'ill
always be looking out for Raoul, and will end by meeting
him; and Raoul can easily be found when he is sought for."

"Agreed; but Raoul calculates well; he bears no grudge

against De Wardes — he has said so; he will wait until he is

» provoked, and in that case his position is a good one. The

king will not be able to get out of temper about the matter;

144 TEN" YEARS LATEE.

besides, we shall know how to pacify his majesty. But why
so full of these fears and anxieties? You don't easily get
alarmed."

"I will tell you Avhat makes me anxious; Eaoul is to see
the king to-morrow, when his majesty will inform him of
his wishes respecting a certain marriage. Eaoul, loving as
he does, will get out of temper, and once in an angry mood,
if he were to meet De Wardes, the shell will explode."

"We will prevent the explosion."

"Not I," said Athos, "for I must return to Blois. All
this gilded elegance of the court, all these intrigues, disgust
me. I am no longer a young man who can make his terms
with the meannesses of the present day. I have read in the
great Book of God many things too beautiful and too com-
prehensive to take any interest in the little trifling phrases
which these men whisper among themselves when they wish
to deceive others. In one word, I am sick of Paris wher-
ever and whenever you are not with me; and as I cannot
have you always, I wish to return to Blois."

"How wrong you are, Athos; how you gainsay your
origin and the destiny of your noble nature! Men of your
stamp are c/eated to continue, to the very last moment, in
full possession of their great faculties. Look at my sword,
a Spanish blade, the one I wore at Eochelle; it served me
for thirty years without fail; one day, in the winter, it fell
upon the marble floor of the Louvre and was broken. I
had a hunting-knife made of it which will last a hundred
years yet. You, Athos, with your loyalty, your frankness,
your cool courage, and your sound information, are the
very man kings need to warn and direct them. Eemain
here; Monsieur Fouquet will not last so long as my Spanish
blade."

"Is it possible," said Athos, smiling, "that my friend
D'Artagnan, who, after having raised me to the skies, mak-
ing me an object of worship, casts me down from the top
of Olympus, and hurls me to the ground? I have more ex-
alted ambition, D'Artagnan. To be a minister— to be a
slave, never. Am I not still greater? I am nothing. I
remember having heard you occasionally call me 'the great
Athos;' I defy you, therefore, if I were minister, to con-
tinue to bestow that title upon me. No, no; I do not yield
myself in this manner."

"We will not speak of it any more, then; renounce every-
thing, even the brotherly feeling which unites us."

"It is almost cruel, what you say."

TEN YEARS LATER. 145

D'Artagnan pressed Athos' hand warmly.

"TSTo, no; renounce everything without fear. Raoul can
get on without you; I am at Paris."

"In that case, I shall return to Blois. We will take leave
^f each other to-night; to-morrow at daybreak I shall be
on my horse again."

"You cannot return to your hotel alone; why did you
not bring Grimaud with you?"

"Grimaud takes his rest now; he goes to bed early, for
my poor old servant gets easily fatigued. He came from
Blois with me, and I compelled him to remain within doors;
for if, in retracing the forty leagues which separate us from
Blois, he needed to draw breath even, he would die with-
out a murmur. But I don't want to lose Grimaud."

"You shall have one of my musketeers to carry a torch
for you. Hola! some one there," called out D'Artagnan,
leaning over the gilded balustrade — the heads of seven or
eight musketeers appeared — ^"I wish some gentleman who
is so disposed to escort the Comte de la Fere," cried D'Ar-
tagnan.

"Thank you for your readiness, gentlemen," said Athos;
"I regret to have occasion to trouble you in this manner."

"I would willingly escort the Comte de la Fere," said
some one, "if I had not to speak to Monsieur d'Artagnan,"

"Who is that?" said D'Artagnan, looking into the
darkness.

"I, Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"Heaven forgive me if that is Monsieur Baisemeaux's
voice!"

"It is, monsieur,"

"What are you doing in the courtyard, my dear
Baisemeaux?"

"I am waiting your orders, my dear Monsieur d'Artagnan. "

"Wretch that I am," thought D'Artagnan; "true, you
have been told, I suppose, that some one was to be arrested,
and have come yourself, instead of sending an officer?"

"I came because I had occasion to speak to you."

"l"ou did not send to me?"

"I waited until you were disengaged," said M. Baise-
meaux timidly.

"I leave you, D'Artagnan," said Athos.

"Not before I have presented Monsieur Baisemeaux de
Montlezun, the governor of the Bastile."

Baisemeaux and Athos saluted each other.

"Surely you must know each other?" said D'Artagnan.
Dumas— Vol. XY. ' 7

146 TE]Sr YEARS LATER.

"I have an indistinct recollection of Monsieur Baise«
meaux," said Athos.

"You remember, my dear Baisemeaux, that king's guards-
man with whom we used formerly to have such delightful
meetings in the cardinal's time."

"Perfectly," said Athos, taking leave of him with
affability.

"Monsieur le Comte de la Fere, whose nom de guerre was
Athos," whispered D'Artagnan to Baisemeaux.

"Yes, yes; a brave man, one of the celebrated four."

"Precisely so. But, my dear Baisemeaux, shall we talk

now

/V"

"If you please."

"In the first place, as for the orders — there are none.
The king does not intend to arrest the person in question."

"So much the worse," said Baisemeaux, with a sigh.

"What do you mean by so much the worse?" exclaimed
D'Artagnan, laughing.

"Ino doubt of it," returned the governor, "my prisoners
are my income."

"I beg your pardon; I did not see it in that light."

"And so there are no orders," repeated Baisemeaux, with
a sigh. "What an admirable situation yours is, captain,"
he continued, after a jDause, "captain-lieutenant of the
musketeers!"

"Oh, it is good enough; but I don't see why you should
envy me; you, governor of the Bastile, the first castle in
France."

"I am well aware of that," said Baisemeaux, in a sorrow-
ful tone of voice.

"You say that like a man confessing his sins. I would
willingly exchange my profits for yours."

"Don't speak of profits to me, if you wish to save me the
bitterest anguish of mind."

"Why do you look first on one side, and then on the
other, as if you were afraid of being arrested yourself, you
whose business it is to arrest others?"

"I was looking to see whether any one could see or listen
to us; it would be safer to confer more in private, if you
would grant me such a favor,"

"Baisemeaux, you seem to forget we are acquaintances of
thirty-five years' standing. Don't assume such sanctified
airs; make yourself quite comfortable; I don't eat governors
of the Bastile raw."

"Heaven be praised!"

5,

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TEN" YEAIIS LATER. 147

"Come into the courtyard with me; it's a "beautiful
moonlight night; we will walk up and down, arm in arm,
under the trees, while you tell me your pitiful tale."

He drew the doleful governor into the courtyard, took
him by the arm, as he had said, and in his rough, good-
humored way, cried:

"Out with it; rattle away, Baisemeaux; what have you
got to say?"

"It's a long story."

"You prefer your own lamentations, then; my opinion is,
it will be longer than ever. I'll wager you are making fifty
thousand francs out of your pigeons in the Bastile."

"Would to Heaven that were the case. Monsieur
d'Artagnan!"

"You surprise me, Baisemeaux; just look at yourself,
voiis faites lliomme contrit. I should like to show you your
face in a glass, and you would see how plump and florid-
looking you are, as fat and round as a cheese, with eyes
like lighted coals; and if it were not for that ugly wrinkle
you try to cultivate on your forehead, you would hardly
look fifty years old, and you are sixty, if I am not mistaken."

"All quite true."

"Of course I knew it was true, as true as the fifty thou-
sand francs profit you make;" at which remark Baisemeaux
stamped on the ground.

"Well, well," said D'Artagnan, "I will run up your ac-
count for you; you were captain of Monsieur Mazariu's
guards; and twelve thousand francs a year would in twelve
years amount to one hundred and forty-four thousand
francs."

"Twelve thousand francs! Are you mad!" cried Baise-
meaux; "the old miser gave me no more than six thousand,
and the expenses of the post amounted to six thousand five
hundred. Monsieur Colbert, who deducted the other six
thousand francs, condescended to allow me to take fifty
pistoles as a gratification; so that, if it were not for my
little estate at Montlezun, which brings me in twelve thou-
sand francs a year, I could not have met my engagements."

"Well, then, how about the fifty thousand francs from
the Bastile? There, I trust, you are boarded and lodged,
and get your six thousand francs salary besides."

"Admitted."

"Whether the year be good or bad, there are fifty pris-
oners, who, on an average, bring you in a thousand francs a
year each."

148 TEN TEARS LATER. '

"I don't deny it."

"Well, there is at once an income of fifty thousand
francs; you have held the post three years, and must have
received in that time one hundred and fifty thousand
francs,"

"You forget one circumstance, dear Monsieur d'Ar-
tagnan."

"What is that?"

"That while you received your appointment as captain
from the king himself, I received mine as governor from
Messrs, Tremblay and Louviere,"

"Quite right, and Tremblay was not a man to let you
have the post for nothing,"

"Nor was Louviere either; the result was, that I gave
seventy-five thousand francs to Tremblay as his share."

"Very agreeable, that! and to Louviere?"

"The same."

"Money down?"

"No; that vv^ould have been impossible. The king did
not wish, or, rather. Monsieur Mazarin did not wish, to
have the appearance of removing those two gentlemen, who
had sprung from the barricades; he permitted them, there-
fore, to make certain extravagant conditions for their
retirement,"

"What are those conditions?"

"Tremble! — three years' income for the good-will,"

"The deuce! so that the hundred and fifty thousand
francs have passed into their hands?"

"Precisely so."

"And beyond that?"

"A sum of one hundred and fifty thousand francs, or
fifteen thousand pistoles, whichever you please, in three
payments."

"Exorbitant enough,"

"Yes, but that is not all,"

"What besides?"

"In default of the fulfillment by me of any one of those
conditions, those gentlemen enter upon their functions
again. The king has been induced to sign that,"

"It is enormous, incredible!"

"Such is the fact, however."

"I do indeed pity you, Baisemeaux. But why, in the
name of fortune, did Monsieur Mazarin grant you this pre-
tended favor? It would have been far better to have
refused you altogether."

TEN" YEARS LATER. 149

"Certainly; but he was strongly persuaded to do so by
my protector."

"Who is he?"

"One of your own friends, indeed; Monsieur d'Herblay."

"Monsieur d'Herblay! Aramis?"

"Just so; he has been very kind toward me."

"Kind! to make you enter into such a bargain."

"Listen. I wished to leave the cardinal's service. Mon-
sieur d'Herblay spoke on my behalf to Louviere and Trem-
blay — tliey objected; I wished to have the appointment very
much, for I knew what it could be made to produce; in my
distress I confided in Monsieur d'Herblay, and he offered
to become my surety for the different payments."

"You astound me! Aramis become your surety?"

"Like a man of honor; he procured the signature; Trem-
blay and Louviere resigned their appointments; I have paid
every year twenty-five thousand francs to these two gentle-
men; on the 31st of May, every year. Monsieur d'Herblay
himself comes to the Bastile, and brings me five thousand
pistoles to distribute between my crocodiles."

"You owe Aramis one hundred and fifty thousand francs,
then?"

"That is the very thing which is the cause of my despair,
for I only owe him one hundred thousand."

"I don't quite understand you."

"He has been only two years. To-day, however, is the
31st of May, and he has not been yet, and to-morrow, at mid-
day, the payment falls due; if, therefore, I don't pay to-
morrow, those gentlemen can, by the terms of the contract,
break off the bargain; I shall be stripped of everything; I
shall have worked for three years, and given two hundred
and fifty thousand francs for nothing, absolutely for noth-
ing at all, dear Monsieur d'Artagnan."

"This is very strange," murmured D'Artagnan.

"You can now imagine that I may well have wrinkles on
my forehead; can you not?"

"Yes, indeed!"

"And you can imagine, too, that notwithstanding I may
be as round as a cheese, with a complexion like an apple,
and my eyes like coals on fire, I may almost be afraid that
I shall not have a cheese or an apple left me to eat, and
that I shall only have my eyes left me to weep with."

"It is really a very grievous affair.'^

"I have come to you, Monsieur d'Artagnan, for you are
the only one who can get me out of my trouble."

150 TEN" TEARS LATER.

"In what way?'*

"You are acquainted with the Abbe d'Herblay, and you
know that he is somewhat mysterious,"

"Yes."

"Well, you can, perhaps, give me the address of his
presbytery, for I have been to Noisy-le-Sec, and he is no
longer there."

"I should think not, indeed. He is Bishop of Vannes."

"What! Vannes in I3retagne?"

"Yes."

The little man began to tear his hair, saying:

"How can I get to Vannes from here by midday to-
morrow? I am a lost man."

"Your despair quite distresses me."

"Vannes! Vannes!" cried Baisemeaux.

"But listen; a bishop is not always a resident. Monsieur
d'Herblay may not possibly be so far away as you fear."

"Pray, tell me his address."

"I really don't know it."

"In that case, I am utterly lost. I will go and throw
myself at the king's feet."

"But, Baisemeaux, I can hardly believe what you tell me;
besides, since the Bastile is capable of producing fifty
thousand francs a year, why have you not tried to screw one
hundred thousand out of it?"

"Because I am an honest man, Monsieur d'Artagnan,
and because my prisoners are fed like potentates."

"Well, you're in a fair way to get out of your difficulties;
give yourself a good attack of indigestion with your excel-
lent living, and put yourself out of the way between this
and midday to-morrow."

"How can you be hard-hearted enough to laugh?"

"Nay, you really afflict me. Come, Baisemeaux, if you
can pledge me your word of honor, do so, that you will not
open your lips to any one about what I am going to say to
you."

"Never, never!"

"You wish to put your hand on Aramis?"

"At any cost."

"Well, go and see where Monsieur Fouquet is."

"Why, what connection can there be "

"How stupid you are! Don't you know that Vannes is
in the diocese of Belle-Isle, or Belle-Isle in the diocese of
Vannes? Belle-Isle belongs to Monsieur Fouquet, and
Monsieur Fouquet nominated Monsieur d'Herblay to that
bishom'io."

TEN" YEAKS LATER. 151

*'l see, I see! You restore me to life again."

"So much the better. Go and tell Monsieur Fouquet
very simply that you wish to speak to Monsieur d'Herblay."

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed Baisemeaux de-
lightedly.

"But," said D'Artagnan, checking him by a severe look,
"your word of honor."

"I give you my sacred word of honor," replied the little
man, about to set off running.

"AVhere are yon going?"

"To Monsieur FouqUet's house."

"It is useless doing that; Monsieur Fouquet is playing at
cards with the king. All you can do is to pay Monsieur
Fouquet a visit early to-morrow morning."

"I will do so. Thank you."

"Good luck attend you," said D'Artagnan.

"Thank you."

"This is a strange affair!" murmured D'Artagnan, as he
slowly ascended the staircase after he had left Baisemeaux.
"What possible interest can Aramis have in obliging Baise-
meaux in this manner? Well, I suppose we shall learn
some day or another."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE king's card-table.

Fouquet was present, as D'Artagnan had said, at the
king's card-table. It seemed as if Buckingham's departure
had shed a balm upon all the ulcerated hearts of the pre-
vious evening. Monsieur, radiant with delight, made a
thousand affectionate signs to his mother. The Count de
Guiche could not separate himself from Buckingham, and
while playing, conversed with him upon the circumstance
of his projected voyage. Buckingham, thoughtful, and
kind in his manner, like a man who has adopted a resolu-
tion, listened to the count, and from time to time cast a
look full of regret and hopeless affliction at madame. The
princess, in the midst of her elation of spirits, divided her
attention between the king, who was playing with her.
Monsieur, who quietly joked her about her enormous win-
nings, and De Guiche, who exhibited an extravagant de-
light. Of Buckingham she took but little notice, for her,
this fugitive, this exile, was now simply a remembrance.

152 TEN^ YEARS LATER.

and no longer a man. Light hearts are thus constituted,
while they themselves continne imtonched, they roi^ghly
break off with every one who may possibly interfere with
their little calculation of selfish comforts. Madame had
received Buckingham's smiles and attentions and sighs,
while he was present; but what was the good of sighing,
smiling, and kneeling at a distance? Can one tell in what
direction the winds in the Channel, which toss the mighty
vessels to and fro, carry such sighs as these? The duke
could not conceal this change, and his heart was cruelly hurt
at it. Of a sensitive character, proud and susceptible of
deep attachment, he cursed the day on which the passion
had entered his heart. The looks which he cast, from time
to time at madame, became colder by degrees at the chill-
ing complexion of his thoughts. He could hardly yet
despair, but he was strong enough to impose silence upon
the tumultuous outcries of his heart. In exact proportion,
however, as madame suspected this change of feeling, she
redoubled her activity to regain the ray of light which she
was about to lose; her timid and indecisive mind was first
displayed in brilliant flashes of wit and humor. At any
cost, she felt that she must be remarked above everything
and every one, even above the king himself. And she was
so, for the queens, notwithstanding their dignity, and the
king, despite the respect which etiquette required, were all
eclipsed by her. The queens, stately and ceremonious,
were softened, and could not restrain their laughter. Mme.
Henrietta, the queen-mother, was dazzled by the brilliancy
which cast distinction upon her family, thanks to the wit
of the granddaughter of Henry IV. The king, so jealous,
as a young man and as a monarch, of the superiority of
those who surrounded him, could not resist admitting him-
self vanquished by that petulance so thoroughly French in
its nature, and whose energy was more than ever increased
by its English humor. Like a child, he was captivated by
her radiant beauty, which her wit made still more so.
Madame's eyes flashed like lightning. Wit and humor
escaped from her ruby lips, like persuasion from the lips of
Nestor of old. The whole court, subdued by her enchant-
ing grace, noticed for the first time that laughter could be
indulged in before the greatest monarch in the world, like
people who merited their appellation of the wittiest and
most polished poeple in the world.

Madame, from that evening, achieved and enjoyed a
success capable of bewildering whomsoever it might be.

TEN YEARS LATER. 153

who had not been born in those elevated regions termed a
throne, and which, in spite of their elevation, are sheltered
from similar vertigoes. From that very moment Louis
XIV. acknowledged madame as a person who might be
recognized. Buckingham regarded her as a coquette de-
serving the crudest tortures, and De Guiche looked upon
her as a divinity; the courtiers as a star whose light might
become the focus of all favor and power. And yet Louis
XIV., a few years previously, had not even condescended
to offer his hand to that "ugly girl" for a ballet; and yet
Buckingham had worshiped this coquette in the humblest
attitude; and yet De Guiche had looked upon this divinity
as a mere woman; and yet the courtiers had not dared to
extol that star in her upward progress, fearful to displease
the monarch whom this star had formerly displeased.

Let us see what was taking place during this memorable
evening at the king's card-table. The young queen, al-
though Spanish by birth, and the niece of Anne of Austria,
loved the king, and could not conceal her affection. She
was a keen observer, like all women, and imperious, like
every queen, was sensible of madame's power, and ac-
quiesced in it immediately, a circumstance which induced
the young queen to raise the siege and retire to her apart-
ments. The king hardly paid any attention to her de-
parture, notwithstanding the pretended symptoms of indis-
position by which it was accompanied. Encouraged by the
rules of etiquette, which he had begun to introduce at the
court as an element of every position -and relation of life,
Louis XIV. did not disturb himself; he offered his hand to
madame without looking at Monsieur his brother, and led
the young princess to the door of her apartments. It was
remarked that at the threshold of the door, his majesty,
freed from every restraint, or less strong than the situation,
sighed very deeply. The ladies present — for nothing
escapes a Avoman's observation — Mile. Montalais, for in-
stance— did not fail to say to each other, "the king sighed,"
and "madame sighed, too." This had been indeed the
case. Madame had sighed very noiselessly, but with an
accompaniment very far more dangerous for the king's re-
pose. Madame had sighed, first closing her beautiful black
eyes, next opening them, and then, laden as they were
with an indescribable mournfulness of expression, she had
raised them toward the king, whose face at that moment
had visibly heightened in color. The consequence of these
blushes, of these interchanged sighs, and of this royal agita-

154 TEK YEARS LATER.

tion, was, that Montalais had committed an indiscretion,
which had certainly affected her companion, for Mile, de la
Valliere, less clear-sighted, perhaps, turned pale when the
king blushed; and her attendance being required upon
madame, she tremblingly followed the princess without
thinking of taking the gloves, which court etiquette re-
quired her to do. True it is that this young country girl
might allege as her excuse the agitation into which the king
seemed to be thrown, for Mile, de la Valliere, busily en-
gaged in closing the door, had involuntarily fixed her eyes
upon the king, who, as he retired backward, had his face
toward it. The king returned to the room where the card-
tables were set out. He wished to speak to the different
persons there, but it could easily be seen that his mind was
absent. He jumbled different accounts together, which
was taken advantage of by some of the noblemen who had
retained those habits since the time of M. Mazarin, he who
had memory, but was a good calculator. In this way, M.
Manicamp, with a thoughtless and absent air, for M. Mani-
camp was the honestest man in the world, appropriated
simply twenty thousand francs, which were littering the
table, and the ownership of which did not seem legitimately
to belong to any person in particular. In the same way,
M. de Wardes, Avhose head was doubtless a little bewildered
by the occurrences of the evening, somehow forgot to leave-
the sixty double louis which he had won for the Duke of
Buckingham, and which the duke, incapable, like his
father, of soiling his hands with coin of any sort, had left
lying on the table before him. The king only recovered
his attention in some degree at the moment that M. Colbert,
who had been narrowly observant for some minutes, ap-
proached, and, doubtless, with great respect, yet with much
perseverance, whispered a counsel of some sort into the still
tingling ears of the king. The king, at the suggestion,
listened with renewed attention, and immediately looking
around him, said: *'Is Monsieur Fouquet no longer here?"

''Yes, sire, I am here,'' replied the surintendant, who
was engaged with Buckingham, and approached the king,
who advanced a step toward him witJi a smiling yet negligent
air. "Forgive me," said Louis, "if I interrupt your con-
versation; but I claim your attention wherever I may
require your services."

"I am always at the king's service," replied Fouquet.

"And your cash-box, too," said the king, laughing with
a false smile.

TEN YEAKS LATER. 155

*'My cash-box more than anything else," said Fouquet
coldly.

"The fact is, I wish to give a /e/e at Fontainebleau, to
keep open house for fifteen days, and I shall reqinre — "
and he stopped, glancing at Colbert. Fouquet waited with-
out showing discomposure; and the king resumed, answer-
ing Colbert's cruel smile, "Four millions of francs."

"Four millions," repeated Fouquet, bowing profoundly.
And his nails, buried in his bosom, were thrust into his
flesh, the tranquil expression of his face remaining unal-
tered. "When will they be required, sire?"

"Take your time — I mean — no, no; as soon as possible."

"A certain time will be necessary, sire."

"Time!" exclaimed Colbert triumphantly.

"The time, monsieur," said the surintendant, with the
haughtiest disdain, "simijly to count the money; a million
only can be drawn and weighed in a day."

"Four days, then," said Colbert.

"My clerks," replied Fouquet, addressing himself to the
king, "will perform wonders for his majesty's service, and
the sum shall be ready in three days."

It was for Colbert now to turn pale. Louis looked at
him astonished. Fouquet withdrew without any parade or
weakness, smiling at his numerous friends, in whose coun-
tenances alone he read the sincerity of their friendship — an
interest partaking of compassion. Fouquet, however, should
not be judged by his smile, for, in reality, he felt as if he
had been stricken by death. Drops of blood beneath his
coat stained the fine linen which covered his chest. His
dress concealed the blood, and his smile the rage which
devoured him. His domestics perceived, by the manner in
which he approached his carriage, that their master was not
in the best of humors; the result of their discernment Avas,
that his orders were executed with that exactitude of
maneuver which is found on board of a man-of-war, com-
manded during a storm by a passionate captain. The car-
riage, therefore, did not simply roll along, but flew. Fou-
quet had hardly had time to recover himself during the
drive; on his arrival he went at once to Aramis, who had
not yet retired for the night. As for Porthos, he had
supped very agreeably from a roast leg of mutton, two
pheasants, and a perfect heap of crawfish; he then directed
his body to be anointed with perfumed oils, in the manner
of the wrestlers of old; and when the anointment was com-
pleted he was wrapped in flannels and placed in a warm

156 TEX YEAKS LATER.

bed. Aramis, as we have already said, had not retired.
Seated at his ease in a velvet dressing-gown, he wrote letter
after letter in that fine and hurried handwriting, a page of
which contained a quarter of a volume. The door was
thrown hurriedly open, and the surintendant appeared,
pale, agitated, and anxious. Aramis looked up: "Good-
evening," said he; and his searching look detected his host's
sadness and disordered state of mind. "Was the play as
good as his majesty's?" asked Aramis, as a way of begin-
ning the conversation. Fouquet threw himself upon a
couch, and then pointed to the door to the servant who had
followed him; when the servant had left he said: "Ex-
cellent."

Aramis, who had followed every movement with his eyes,
noticed that he stretched himself upon the cushions with a
sort of feverish impatience. "You have lost as usual?"
inquired Aramis, his pen still in his hand.

"Better than usual," replied Fouquet.

"You know how to support losses."

"Sometimes."

"What! Monsieur Fouquet a bad player!"

"There is play and play. Monsieur d'Herblay."

"How much have you lost?" inquired Aramis, with a
slight uneasiness.

Fouquet collected himself a moment, and then, without
the slightest emotion, said, "The evening has cost me four
millions," and a bitter laugh drowned the last vibration of
these words.

Aramis, who did not expect such an amount, dropped his
pen. "Four millions," he said; "you have lost four mil-
lions— impossible!"

"Monsieur Colbert held my cards for me," replied the
surintendant, with a similar bitter laugh.

"Ah, now I understand; so, so, a new application for
funds?"

"Yes, and from the king's own lips. It is impossible to
destroy a man with a more charming smile. What do you
think of it?"

"It is clear that your ruin is the object in view."

"That is still your opinion?"

"Still. Besides, there is nothing in it which should
astonish you, for we have foreseen it all along."

"Yes; but I did not expect four millions."

"No doubt the amount is serious; but, after all, four mil-
lions are not quite the death of a man, especially when the
man in question is Monsieur Fouquet."

TEN YEARS LATER. 157

"My dear D'Herblay, if yon knew the contents of my
coffers you would be less easy."

"And you promised?"

"What could I do?"

"That's true."

"The very day when I refuse, Colbert will procure it,
whence I know not, but he will procure the money, and I
shall be lost."

"There is no doubt of that. In how many days hence
have you promised these four millions?"

"In three days; the king seemed exceedingly pressed."

"In three days?"

"When I think," resumed Fouquet, "that just now, as I
passed along the streets, the people cried out, 'There is the
rich Monsieur Fouquet,' it is enough to turn my brain."

"Stay, monsieur, the matter is not worth the trouble,"
said Aramis calmly, sprinkling some sand over the letter
he had just written.

"Suggest a remedy, then, for this evil without a remedy."

"There is only one remedy for you — pay."

"But it is very uncertain whether I have the money.
Everything must be exhausted; Belle-Isle is paid for; the
pension has been paid; and .money, since the investigation
of the account of those who farm the revenue, is rare. Be-
sides, admitting that I pay this time, how can I do so on
another occasion? When ki^igs have tasted money they
are like tigers who have tasted flesh, they devour every-
thing. The day will arrive — must arrive — when I shall
have to say 'Impossible, sire,' and on that very day I am a
lost man."

Aramis raised his shoulders slightly, saying:

"A man in your position, my lord, is only lost Avhen he
wishes to be so."

"A man, whatever his position may be, cannot hope to
struggle against a king."

"Nonsense; when I was young I struggled successfully
with the Cardinal Eichelieu, who was King of France — nay
more, cardinal."

"Where are my armies, my troops, my treasures? I have
not even Belle-Isle."

"Bah! necessity is the mother of invention, and when
you think all is lost, something will be discovered which
shall save everything."

"Who will discover this wonderful something?"

"Yourself."

158 TEN YEARS LATER.

"I! I resign my office of inventor."

"Then I will."

"Be it so. But then, set to work without delay."

"Oh! we have time enough."

"You kill me, D'Herblay, with your calmness," said the
surintendant, passing his handkerchief over his face.

"Do you not remember that I one day told you not to
make yourself uneasy, if you possess but courage? Have
you any?"

"I believe so."

"Then don't make yourself uneasy."

"It is decided, then, that at the last moment you will
come to my assistance."

"It will only be the repayment of a debt I owe you."

"It is the vocation of financiers to anticipate the wants of
men such as yourself, D'Herblay."

"If obligingness is the vocation of financiers, charity is a
virtue of the clergy. Only, on this occasion, do you act,
monsieur. You are not yet sufficiently reduced, and at the
last moment we shall see what is to be done."

"We shall see, then, in a very short time."

"Very well. However, permit me to tell you that, per-
sonally, I regret exceedingly that you are at present so short
of money, because I was myself about to ask you for some."

"For yourself?"

"For myself, or some of my people, for mine or for ours."

"How much do you want?"

"Be easy on that score; a roundish sum, it is true, but
not too exorbitant."

"Tell me the amount."

"Fifty thousand francs."

"Oh! a mere nothing. Of course one has always fifty
thousand francs. Why the deuce cannot that knave Col-
bert be as easily satisfied as you are, and I should give my-
self far less trouble than I do. When do you need this
sum?"

"To-morrow morning; but you require to know its
destination."

"Nay, nay, chevalier, I need no explanation."

"To-morrow is the first of June."

"Well?"

"One of our bonds becomes due."

"I did not know we had any bonds."

"Certainly, to-morrow we pay our last third installment."

"What third?"

TEN TEAES LATER. 159

"Of the one hundred and fifty thousand to Baisemaux."

"Baisemaux — who is he?"

"The governor of the Bastile."

"Yes, I remember; on what grounds am I to pay one
hundred and fifty thousand for that man?"

"On account of the appointment which he, or rather we,
purchased from Louviere and Tremblay."

"I have a very vague recollection of the whole matter."

"That is likely enough, for you have so many affairs to
attend to. However, I do not believe you have any affair
of greater importance than this one." •

"Tell me, then, why we purchased this appointment."

"Why, in order to render him a service in the first place,
and afterward ourselves."

"Ourselves? You are joking."

"Monseigneur, the time may come when the governor of
the Bastile may prove a very excellent acquaintance."

"I have not the good fortune to understand you,
D'Herblay."

"Monseigneur, we have our own poets, our own engineer,
our own architect, our own musicians, our own printer, and
our own painters; we needed our own governor of the Bastile."

"Do you think so?"

"Let us not deceive ourselves, monseigneur; we are very
much opposed to paying the Bastile a visit," added the prel-
ate, displaying, beneath his pale lips, teeth which were still
the same beautiful teeth so admired thirty years previously
by Marie Michon.

"And you think it is not too much to pay one hundred
and fifty thousand francs for that? I assure you that you
generally put out your money at better interest than that."

"The day will come when you will admit your mistake."

"My dear D'Herblay, the very day on which a man enters
the Bastile, he is no longer protected by the past."

"Yes, he is, if the bonds are perfectly regular; besides,
that good fellow Baisemeaux has not a courtier's heart. I
am certain, my lord, that he will not remain ungrateful
for that money, without taking into account, I repeat, that
I retain the acknowledgments."

"It is a strange affair; usury in a matter of benevolence."

"Do not mix yourself up with it, monseigneur, if there
be usury; it is I who practice it, and both of us reap the
advantage from it — that is all."
"Some intrigue, D'Herblay?"
"I do not deny it."

160 TEN YEARS LATER.

"And Baisemeaux an accomplice in it?"

"Why not? there are worse accomplices than he. May I
depend, then, upon the five thousand pistoles to-morrow?"

"Do you want them this evening?"

"It would be better, for I wish to start early; poor Baise-
meaux will not be able to imagine what has become of me,
and must be upon thorns."

"You shall have the amount in an hour. Ah, D'Herblay,
the interest of your one hundred and fifty thousand francs
will never pay my four millions for me."

"Why, not, monseigneur?"

"Good-night, I have business to transact with my clerks
before I retire."

"A good night's rest, monseigneur."

"D'Herblay, you wish that which is impossible."

"Shall I have my fifty thousand francs this evening?"

"Yes."

"Go to sleep, then, in perfect safety — it is I who tell you
to do so." Notwithstanding this assurance, and the tone
in which it was given, Fouquet left the room shaking his
head and heaving a sigh.

CHAPTER XXIII.

MONSIEUR BAISEMEAUX DE MONTLEZUN'S ACCOUNTS.

The clock of St. Paul's was striking seven as Aramis, on
horseback, dressed as a simple citizen, that is to say, in
colored suit, with no distinctive mark about him, except a
kind of hunting-knife by his side, passed before the Street
du Petit Muse, and stopped opposite the Street des Tourelles,
at the gate of the Bastile. Two sentinels were on duty at
the gate; they raised no difficulty about admitting Aramis,
who entered without dismounting, and they pointed out
the way he was to go by a long passage with buildings on
both sides. This passage led to the drawbridge, or, in
other words, to the real entrance. The drawbridge was
down, and the duty of the day was about being entered
upon. The sentinel on duty at the outer guardhouse
stopped Aramis' further progress, asking him, in a rough
tone of voice, what had brought him there. Aramis ex-
plained, with his usual politeness, that a wish to speak to
M. Baisemeaux de Montlezun had occasioned his visit.
The first sentinel then summoned a second sentinel, sta-

TEN" YEARS LATER. 161

tioned within an inner lodge, who showed his face at the
grating, and inspected the new arrival very attentively.
Aramis reiterated the expression of his wish to see the gov-
ernor, whereupon the sentinel called to an officer of lower
grade, who was walking about in a tolerably spacious court-
yard, and who, in his turn, on being informed of his object,
ran to seek one of the officers of the governor's staff. The
latter, after having listened to Aramis' request, begged
him to wait a moment, then went away a short distance,
but returned to ask his name. "I cannot tell it you, mon-
sieur," said Aramis; "1 would only mention that I have
matters of such importance to communicate to the governor
that I can only rely beforehand upon one thing, that Mon-
sieur de Baisemeaux will be delighted to see me; nay, more
than that, when you shall have told him that it is the per-
son whom he expected on the first of June, I am convinced
he will hasten here himself." The officer could not possi-
bly believe that a man of the governor's importance should
put himself out for a man of so little importance as the
citizen-looking person on horseback.

"It happens most fortunately, monsieur," he said, "that
the governor is Just going out, and you can perceive his
carriage, with the horses already harnessed, in the court-
yard yonder; there will be no occasion for him to come to
meet you, as he will see you as he passes by." Aramis
bowed to signify his assent; he did not wish to inspire
others with too exalted an opinion of himself, and therefore
waited patiently and in silence, leaning upon the saddle-bow
of his horse. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed when the
governor's carriage was observed to move. The governor
appeared at the door, got into the carriage, which imme-
diately prepared to start. The same ceremony was observed
for the governor himself as had been the case with a sus-
pected stranger; the sentinel at the lodge advanced as the
carriage was about to pass under the arch, and the governor
opened the carriage-door, himself setting the example of
obedience to orders; so that, in this way, the sentinel could
convince himself that none quitted the Bastile improperly.
The carriage rolled along under the archway, but at the
moment the iron gate was opened the officer approached
the carriage, which had been again stopped, and said some-
thing to the governor, who immediately put his head out of
the doorway, and perceived Aramis on horseback at the
end of the drawbridge. He immediately uttered almost a
shout of delight, and got out, or rather darted out of his

163 TEN YEARS LATER.

carriage, running toward Aramis, whose hands he seized,
making a thousand apologies. He almost kissed him.

"What a difficult matter to enter the Bastile!" said
Aramis. "Is it the same for those who are sent here against
their wills as for those who come of their own accord?"

"A thousand pardons, my lord. How delighted I am to
see your grace!"

"Hush! What are you thinking of, my dear Monsieur
Baisemeaux? what do you suppose would be thought of a
bishop in my present costume?"

"No, no," said Aramis; "I have five thousand pistoles in
the portmanteau."

The governor's countenance became so radiant that if
the prisoners had seen him they would have imagined some
prince of the blood royal had arrived. "Yes, you are right,
the horse shall be taken to the government house. Will
you get into the carriage, my dear Monsieur d'Herblay, and
it shall take us back to my house?"

"Get into a carriage to cross a courtyard? do you believe
1 am so great an invalid? No, no; we will go on foot."

Baisemeaux then offered his arm as a support, but the
prelate did not accept it. They arrived in this manner at
the government house, Baisemeaux rubbing his hands and
glancing at the horse from time to time, while Aramis was
looking at the black and bare walls. A tolerably handsome
vestibule, a straight staircase of white stone led to the gov-
ernor's apartments, who crossed the antechamber, the
dining-room, where breakfast was being prepared, opened
a small side door, and closeted himself with his guest in a
large cabinet, the windows of which opened obliquely upon
the courtyard and the stables. Baisemeaux installed the
prelate with that obsequious politeness of which a good
man, or a grateful man, alone possesses the secret. An
armchair, a footstool, a small table beside him, on which to
rest his hand; everything was prepared by the governor
himself. With his own hands, too, he placed upon the
table, with an almost religious solicitude, the bag contain-
ing the gold, which one of the soldiers had brought up with
the most respectful devotion; and the soldier having left
the room, Baisemeaux himself closed the door after him,
drew aside one of the window-curtains, and looked stead-
fastly at Aramis to see if the prelate required anything
further. "Well, my lord," he said, still standing, "of all
men of their word, you still continue to be the most
punctual."

TEN YEARS LATER. 163

"In matters of business, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux,
exactitude is not a virtue only, but a duty as well."

"Yes, in matters of business, certainly; but what you
have Avith me is not of that character — it is a service you
are rendering me,"

"Come, confess, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, that, not-
withstanding this exactitude, you have not been without a
little uneasiness."

"About your health, I certainly have," stammered out
Baisemeaux.

"1 wished to come here yesterday, but I was not able, as
I was too fatigued," continued Aramis. Baisemeaux
anxiously slipped another cushion behind his guest's back.
"But," continued Aramis, "I promised myself to come and
pay you a visit to-day, early in the morning."

"You are really very kind, my lord."

"And it was a good thing for me that I was punctual, I
think."

"What do you mean?"

"Yes, you were going out." At which latter remark
Baisemeaux colored, and said, "Yes, it is true I was going
out."

"Then I prevent you," said Aramis; whereupon the em-
barrassment of Baisemeaux became visibly greater. "I am
putting you to inconvenience," he continued, fixing a keen
glance upon the poor governor; "if I had known that I
should not have come."

"How can your lordship imagine that you could ever
inconvenience me?"

"Confess you were going in search of money."

"No," stammered out Baisemeaux, "no! I assure you I
was going to "

"Does the governor still intend to go to Monsieur Fou-
quet's?" suddenly called out the major from below. Baise-
meaux ran to the window like a madman.

"No, no," he exclaimed, in a state of desperation; "who
the deuce is speaking of Monsieur Fouquet? are you drunk
below there? why am I interrupted when I am engaged on
business?"

"You were going to Monsieur Fouquet's," said Aramis,
biting his lips, "to Monsieur Fouquet, the abbe, or the
surintendant?"

Baisemeaux almost made up his mind to. tell an untruth,
but he could not summon courage to do so. "To the sur-
intendant," he said.

164 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"It is true, then, that you were in want of money, since
you were going to the person who gives it away?"

"I assure you, my lord "

"You are suspicious of me."

"My dear lord, it was the uncertainty and ignorance in
which I was as to where you were to be found."

"You would have found the money you require at Mon-
sieur Fouquet's, for he is a man whose hand is always open."

"I swear that I should never have ventured to ask Mon-
sieur Fouquet for money. I only wished to ask him for
your address."

"To ask Monsieur Fouquet for my address?" exclaimed
Aramis, opening his eyes in real astonishment.

"Yes," said Baisemeaux, greatly disturbed by the glance
which the prelate fixed upon him, "at Monsieur Fouquet's,
certainly."

"There is no harm in that, dear Monsieur Baisemeaux,
only I would ask, why ask my address of Monsieur Fouquet?"

"That I might write to you."

"I understand," said Aramis, smiling, "but that is not
what I meant; I do not ask you what you required my
address for, I only ask why you should go to Monsieur Fou-
quet for it?"

"Oh I" said Baisemeaux, "as Belle-Isle is the property of
Monsieur Fouquet, and as Belle-Isle is in the diocese of
Vannes, and as you are bishop of Vannes "

"But, my dear Baisemeaux, since you knew I was bishop
of Vannes, you had no occasion to ask Monsieur Fouquet
for my address."

"Well, monsieur," said Baisemeaux, completely at bay, "if
I have acted indiscreetly I beg your pardon most sincerely."

"Nonsense," observed Aramis calmly; "how can you
possibly have acted indiscreetly?" And while he composed
his face, and continued to smile cheerfully on the governor,
he was considering how Baisemeaux, who was not aware of
his address, knew, however, that Vannes was his residence.
"I will clear all this up," he said to himself; and then
speaking aloud, added, "Well, my dear governor, shall we
now arrange our little accounts?"

"I am at your orders, my lord; but tell me beforehand,
my lord, whether you will do me the honor to breakfast
with me as usual?"

"Very willingly indeed."

"That's well," said Baisemeaux, as he struck the bell be-
fore him three times.

TEN YEARS LATER. 165

"What does that mean?" inquired Aramis.

"That I have some one to breakfast with me, and that
preparations are to be made accordingly."

"And you rang thrice. Really, my dear governor, I
begin to think you are acting ceremoniously with me."

"No, indeed. Besides, the least I can do is to receive
you in the best way I can."

"But why so?"

"Because not a prince, even, could have done what you
have done for me."

"Nonsense! nonsense!"

"Nay, I assure you "

"Let us speak of other matters," said Aramis. "Or
rather, tell me how your affairs here are getting on."

"Not overwell."

"The deuce!"

"Monsieur de Mazarin was not hard enough."

"Yes, I see; you require a government full of suspicion
— like that of the old cardinal, for instance."

"Yes; matters went on better under him. The brother
of his 'gray eminence' made his fortune in it."

"Believe me, my dear governor," said Aramis, drawing
closer to Baisemeaux, "a young king is well worth an old
cardinal. Youth has its suspicions, its fits of anger, its
prejudices, as old age has its hatreds, its precautions, and
its fears. Have you paid your three years' profits to Lou-
viere and to Tremblay?"

"Most certainly I have."

"So that you have nothing more to give them than the
fifty thousand francs which I have brought with me?"

"Yes."

"Have you not saved anything, then?"

"My lord, in giving the fifty thousand francs of my own
to these gentlemen, I assure you that I give them every-
thing I gain. I told Monsieur d'Artagnan so yesterday
evening."

"Ah!" said Aramis, whose eyes sparkled for a moment,
but became immediately afterward as unmoved as before;
"so you have seen my old friend D'Artagnan; how was he?"

"Wonderfully well."

"And what did you say to him, Monsieur de Baisemeaux?"

"I told him," continued the governor, not perceiving his
own thoughtlessness — "I told him that I fed my prisoners
too well."

"How many have you?" inquired Aramis, in an indiffer-
ent tone of voice.

166 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"Sixty."

"Well, that is a tolerably round number."

"In former times, my lord, there were, during certain
years, as many as two hundred."

"Still, a minimum of sixty is not to be grumbled at."

"Perhaps not; for, to anybody but myself, each prisoner
would bring in two hundred and fifty pistoles; for instance,
for a prince of the blood I have fifty francs a day."

"Only you have no prince of the blood; at least, I sup-
pose so," said Aramis, with a slight tremor in his voice.

"No, thTink Heaven! I mean, no, unfortunately."

"What do you mean by unfortunately?"

"Because my appointment would be improved by it. So,
fifty francs per day for a prince of the blood, thirty-six for a
marechal of France "

"But you have as many marechals of France, I suppose,
as you have princes of the blood?"

"Alas! yes; it is true that lieutenant-generals and briga-
diers pay twenty-six francs, and I have two of them. After
that come the councilors of the parliament, who bring me
fifteen francs, and I have six of them."

"I did not know," said Aramis, "that councilors were so
productive."

"Yes; but from fifteen francs I sink at once to ten francs;
namely, for an ordinary Judge, and for an ecclesiastic."

"And you have seven, you say; an excellent affair."

"Nay, a bad one, and for this reason. How can I possibly
treat these poor fellows, who are of some good, at all events,
otherwise than as a councilor of the parliament?"

"Yes, you are right; I do not see five francs' difference
between them."

"You understand; if I have a fine fish, I pay four or five
francs for it; if I get a fine fowl, it costs me a franc and a
half. I fatten a good deal of poultry, but I have to buy
grain, and you cannot imagine the multitude of rats which
infest this place."

"Why not get a half a dozen cats to deal with them?"

"Cats, indeed; yes, they eat them, but I was obliged to
give up the idea because of the way in which they treated
my grain. I have been obliged to have some terrier dogs
sent me from England to kill the rats. The dogs have
tremendous appetites; they eat as much as a prisoner of
the fifth order, without taking into account the rabbits and
fowls they kill." Was Aramis really listening or not? No
one could have told; his downcast eyes showed the atten-

TEN YEARS LATER. 167

tive man, but the restless hand betrayed the man absorbed
in thought — Aramis was meditating. "I was saying," con-
tinued Baisemeaux, "that a tolerably sized fowl costs me a
franc and a half, and that a good-sized fish costs me four or
five francs. Three meals are served at the Bastile, and, as
the prisoners have nothing to do, are always eating, a ten-
franc man cost me seven francs and a half."

"But did you not say that you treated those at ten francs
like those at fifteen?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Very well! Then you gain seven francs and a half upon
those who pay you fifteen francs."

"I must compensate myself somehow," said Baisemeaux,
who saw how he had been caught.

"You are quite right, my dear governor; but have you
no prisoners below ten francs?"

"Oh, yes! we have citizens and barristers at five francs."

"And do they eat, too?"

"Not a doubt about it; only you understand that they do
not get fish or poultry, nor rich wines at every meal; but at
all events thrice a week they have a good dish at their
dinner."

"Eeally, you are quite a philanthropist, my dear gover-
nor, and you will ruin yourself."

"No; understand me; when the fifteen francs has not
eaten his fowl, or the ten francs has left his dish unfinished,
I send it to the five-franc j^risoners; it is a feast for the
poor devil, and one must be charitable, you know."

"And what do you make out of your five-franc prisoners?"

"A franc and a half."

"Baisemeaux, you're an honest fellow; in honest truth I
say so."

"Thank you, my lord. But I feel most for the small
tradesmen and bailiffs' clerks, who are rated at three francs.
They do not often see Rhine carp or Channel sturgeon."

"But do not the five-franc gentlemen sometimes leave
some scraps?"

"Oh! my lord, do not believe I am so stingy as that; I
delight the heart of some poor little tradesman or clerk by
sending him a wing of a red partridge, a slice of venison,
or a slice of truffled pastry, dishes which he never tasted
except in his dreams; these are the leavings of the twenty-
four-franc prisoners; and he eats and drinks, at dessert he
cries 'Long live the king!' and blesses the Bastile; with a
couple of bottles of champagne, which cost me five sous, I

168 TEN YEARS LATER.

make him tipsy every Sunday. That class of people call
down blessings upon me, and are sorry to leave the prison.
Do you know that I have remarked, and it does me inhnite
honor, that certain prisoners, who have been set at liberty,
have, almost immediately afterward, got imprisoned again?
Why should this be the case, unless it be to enjoy the
pleasures of my kitchen? It is really the fact." Aramis
smiled with an expression of incredulity.

"You smile," said Baisemeaux.

"I do," returned Aramis.

"I tell you that we have names which have been inscribed
on our books thrice in the space of two years."

"I must see it before I believe it," said Aramis.

"Well, I can show it to you, although it is prohibited to
communicate the register to strangers; and if you really
wish to see it with your own eyes "

"I should be delighted, I confess "

"Very well," said Baisemeax; and he took out of a
cupboard a large register. Aramis followed him most
anxiously with his eyes, and Baisemeaux returned, placed
the register upon the table, and turned over the leaves for
a minute, and stayed at the letter M.

"Look here," said he, " 'Martinier, January, 1659; Mar-
tinier, June, 1660; Martinier, March, 1661.' Mazarinades,
etc.; you understand it was only a pretext; people were not
sent to the Bastile for jokes against Monsieur Mazarin; the
fellow denounced himself in order to get imprisoned here."

"And what was his object?"

"None other than to return to my kitchen at three francs
the head."

"Three francs — poor devil!"

"The poet, my lord, belongs to the lowest scale, the same
style of board as the small tradesman and bailifE's clerk;
but I repeat, it is to these people only that I give those
little surprises."

Aramis mechanically turned over the leaves of the regis-
ter, continuing to read the names, but without appearing
to take any interest in the names he read.

"In 1661,. you perceive," said Baisemeaux, "eighty en-
tries; and in 1659, eighty also."

"Ah!" said Aramis. "Seldon; I seem to know that
name. Was it not you who spoke to me about a certain
young man?"

"Yes, a poor devil of a student, who made — What do
you call that where two Latin verses rhyme together?"

TEN YEARS LATER. 169

**A distich."

"Yes; that is it."

''Poor fellow; for a distich."

"Do you not know that he made a distich against the
Jesuits?"

"That makes no difference; the punishment seems very
severe."

"Do not pity him; last year you seemed to interest your-
self in him."

"Yes, I did so."

"Well, as your interest is all-powerful here, my lord, I have,
treated him since that time as a prisoner at fifteen francs."

"The- same as this one, then," said Aramis, who had con-
tinued turning over the leaves, and who had stopped at one
of the names which followed Martinier.

"Yes, the same as that one."
. "Is that Marchiali an Italian?" said Aramis, pointing
with his finger to the name which had attracted his
attention.

"Hush!" said Baisemeaux.

"Why hush?" said Aramis, involuntarily clinching his
white hand.

"I thought I had already spoken to you about that
Marchiali?"

"No; it is the first time I ever heard his name pro-
nounced."

"That may be; but I may have spoken to you about him
without naming him,"

"Is he an old offender?" asked Aramis, attempting to
smile.

"On the contrary, he is quite young."

"Is his crime, then, very heinous?"

"Unpardonable."

"Has he assassinated any one?"

"Bah!"

"An incendiary, then?"

"Bah!"

"Has he slandered any one^"

"No, no! It is he who — " and Baisemeaux approached
Aramis' ear, Aiaking a sort of ear-trumpet of his hands,
and whispered, "It is he who presumes to resemble the "

"Yes, yes," said Aramis, "I now remember you already
spoke about it last year to me; but the crime appeared to
me so slight."

"Slight, do you say?"
DuiiAs— Vol. XT. 8

170 TEN TEAES LATER.

"Or, rather, so involuntary."

"My lord, it is not involuntarily that such a resemblance
is detected."

"Well, the fact is, I had forgotten it. But, my dear
host," said Aramis, closing the register, "if I am not mis-
taken, we are summoned."

Baisemeaux took the register, hastily restored it to its
place in the closet, which he closed, and put the key in his
pocket. "Will it be agreeable to your lordship to break-
fast now?" said he; "for you are right in supposing that
breakfast was announced."

"Assuredly, my dear governor;" and they passed into the
dining-room.

CHAPTEK XXIV.

THE BREAKFAST OF MONSIEUR DE BAISEMEAUX.

Aramis was generally temperate; but on this occasion,
while taking every care with regard to himself, he did
ample justice to Baisemeaux's breakfast, which, in every
respect, was most excellent. The latter, on his side, was
animated with the wildest gayety; the sight of the five
thousand pistoles, which he glanced at from time to time,
seemed to open his heart. Every now and then he looked
at Aramis with an expression of the deepest gratitude;
while the latter, leaning back in his chair, sipped a few
drops of wine from his glass, with the air of a connoisseur.
"Let me never hear an ill word against the fare of the
Bastile," said he, half-closing his eyes; "happy are the
prisoners who can get only half a bottle of this Burgundy
every day."

"All those at fifteen francs drink it," said Baisemeaux.
"It is very old Volnay."

"Does that poor student, Seldon, drink such good wine?"

"Oh, no!"

"I thought I heard you say he was boarded at fifteen
francs." •

"He! no, indeed; a man who makes districts — distichs, I
mean — at fifteen francs! No, no! it is his neighbor who is
at fifteen francs."

"Which neighbor?"

"The other, the second Bertaudicre."

TE]Sr YEARS LATEE. 171

"Excuse me, my dear governor; but you speak a language
which requires an apprenticeship to understand."

"Very true," said the governor, "Allow me to explain:
the second Bertaudiere is the person who occupies the
second floor of the tower of the Bertaudiere."

"So that Bertaudiere is the name of one of the towers of
the Bastile? The fact is, I think I recollect hearing that
each tower has a name of its own. Whereabouts is the one
you are speaking of?"

"Look," said Baisemeaux, going to the window. "It is
that tower to the 1 ft — the second one."

"Is the prisoner at fifteen francs there?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Seven or eight years, nearly."

"What do you mean by nearly? Do you not know the
dates more precisely?"

"It was not in my time, dear Monsieur d'Herblay."

"But I should have thought that Louvi^re or Tremblay
would have told you."

"The secrets of the Bastile are never handed over with
the keys of the governorship of it."

"Indeed! Then the cause of his imprisonment is a mys-
tery— a state secret."

"Oh, no! I do not suppose it is a state secret, but a
secret like everything else that happens at the Bastile."

"But," said Aramis, "why do you speak more freely of
Seldon than of the second Bertaudiere?"

"Because, in my opinion, the crime of the man who
writes a distich is not so great as that of the man who
resembles "

"Yes, yes; I understand you. Still, do not the turn-
keys talk with your prisoners?"

"Of course."

"The prisoners, I suppose, tell them they are not guilty?"

"They are always telling them that; it is a matter of
course; the same song over and over again."

"But does not the resemblance you Avere speaking about
just now strike the turnkeys?"

"My dear Monsieur d'Herblay, it is only for men attached
to the court, as you are, to take any trouble about such
matters."

"You're right, you're right, my dear Monsieur Baise-
meaux. Let me give you another taste of this Volnay."

"Not a taste merely, a full glass; fill yours, too."

173 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Nay, nay! You are a musketeer still, to the very tips
of your fingers, while I have become a bishop. A taste for
me; a glass for yourself . "

"As you please." And Aramis and the governor nodded
to each other as they drank their wine. "But," said
Aramis, looking with fixed attention at the ruby-colored
wine he had raised to the level of his eyes, as if he wished to
enjoy it with all his senses at the same moment; "but what
you might call a resemblance, another would not, perhaps,
take any notice of."

"Most certainly he would, though, if it were any one
who knew the person he resembles."

"I really think, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, that it
can be nothing more than a resemblance of your own
creation."

"Upon my honor, it is not so."

"Stay," continued Aramis. "I have seen many persons
very like the one we are speaking of; but out of respect
no one ever said anything about it."

"Very likely; because there are resemblances and resem-
blances. This is a striking one, and if you were to see
him you would admit it to be so."

"If I were to see him, indeed," said Aramis, in an in-
different tone; "but in all probability I never shall."

"Why not?"

"Because if I were even to put my foot inside one- of
those horrible dungeons I should fancy I was buried there
forever."

"No, no; the cells are very good as places to live in.^'

"I really do not, and cannot believe it, and that is a
fact."

"Pray do not speak ill of the second Bertaudiere. It is
really a good room, very nicely furnished and carpeted.
The young fellow has by no means been unhappy there; the
best lodging the Bastile affords has been his. There is a
chance for you."

"Nay, nay," said Aramis coldly; "you will never make
me believe there are any good rooms in the Bastile; and
as for your carpets, they exist in your imagination. I
should find nothing but spiders, rats, and perhaps toads,
too."

"Toads?" said Baisemeaux.

"Yes, in the dungeons."

"Ah! I don't say there are not toads in the dungeons,*'

TEN TEARS LATER. 173

replied Baisemeanx. "But — will you be convinced by your
own eyes?" he continued, with sudden impulse.

"No, certainly not."

"Not even to satisfy yourself of the resemblance which
you deny, as you do the carpets?"

"Some spectral-looking person, a mere shadow; an un-
happy, dying man,"

"Nothing of the kind — as brisk and vigorous a young
fellow as ever lived."

"Melancholy and ill-tempered, then?"

"Not at all; very gay and lively."

"Nonsense; you are joking."

"Will you follow me?" said Baisemeaux.

"What for?"

"To go the round of the Bastile."

"Why?"

"You will then see for yourself — see with your eyes."

"But the regulations?"

"Never mind them. To-day my major has leave of
absence; the lieutenant is visiting the post on the bastions;
we are masters of the position."

"No, no, my dear governor; why, the very idea of the
sound of the bolts makes me shudder. You will only have
to forget me in the second or fourth Bertaudiere, and
then "

"You are refusing an opportunity that may never present
itself again. Do you know that to obtain the favor I pro-
pose to you gratis some of the princes of the blood have
offered me as much as fifty thousand francs."

"Really! he must be worth seeing, then?"

"Forbidden fruit, my lord; forbidden fruit. You who
belong to the church ought to know that."

"Well, if I had any curiosity it would be to see the poor
author of the distich."

"Very well, we will see him too; but if I were at all
curious it would be about the beautiful carpeted room and
its lodger,"

"Furniture is very commonplace; and a face with no ex-
pression in it offers little or no interest."

"But a boarder at fifteen francs is always interesting."

"By the bye, I forgot to ask you. about that. Why fifteen
francs for him, and only three francs for poor Seldon?"

"The distinction made in that instance was a truly noble
act, and one which displayed the king's goodness of heart
to great advantage."

174 TEN YEARS LATER.

"The king's, you say?"

*'The cardinal's, I mean; 'this unhappy man/ said M.
Mazarin, 'is destined to remain in prison forever.' "

"Why so?"

"Why, it seems that his crime is a lasting one; and, con-
sequently, his punishment ought to be so too."

"Lasting?"

"No'doubt of it; unless he is fortunate enough to catch
the smallpox, and even that is diflBcult, for we never get
any impure air here."

"Nothing can be more ingenious than your train of
reasoning, my dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux. Do you,
however, mean to say that this unfortunate man must suffer
without interruption or termination?"

"I did not say he was to suffer, my lord; a fifteen-francs
boarder does not suffer."

"He suffers imprisonment at all events."

"No doubt; there is no help for it; but this suffering is
sweetened for him. You must admit that this young fellow
was not born to eat all the good things he does eat; for
instance, such things as we have on the table now; this
pastry that has not been touched, these crawfish from the
river 'Marne, of which we have hardly taken any, and which
are almost as large as lobsters; all these things will at once
be taken to the second Bertaudiere, with a bottle of that
Volnay Avhich you think so excellent. After you have seen
it you will believe it, I hope."

"Yes, my dear governor, certainly; but all this time you
are thinking only of your very happy fifteen-francs prisoner,
and you forget poor Seldou, my 2)rotcge."

"Well, out of consideration for you it shall be a gala day
for him; he shall have some biscuits and preserves with this
small bottle of port."

"You are a good-hearted fellow; I have said so already,
and I repeat it, my dear Baisemeaux."

"Well, let us set off, then," said the governor, a little
bewildered, partly from the wine he had drunk, and partly
from Aramis' praises.

"Do not forget that I only go to oblige you," said the
prelate.

"Very well; but you will thank me when you get there."

"Let us go, then."

"Wait until I have summoned the jailer," said Baise-
meaux, as he struck the bell twice; at which summons a

TEN YEAKS LATER. 175

man appeared, "I am going to visit the towers," said the
governor. "No guards, no drums, no noise at all."

"If I were not to leave my cloak here," said Aramis, pre-
tending to be alarmed, "I should really think I was going
to prison on my own account." The jailer preceded the
governor, Aramis walking on his right hand; some of the
soldiers who happened to be in the courtyard drew them-
selves up in line, as stiff as posts, as the governor passed
along. Baisemeaux led the way down several steps which
conducted to a sort of esplanade; thence they arrived at the
drawbridge, where the. sentinels on duty received the gov-
ernor with the proper honors. The governor turned toward
Aramis, and, speaking in such a tone that the sentinels
could not lose a word he said, observed: "I hope you have
a good memory, monsieur?"

"Why?" inquired Aramis.

"On account of your plans and your measurements, for
you know that no one is allowed, not architects even, to
enter where the prisoners are, with paper, pens, or pencils."

"Good," said Aramis to himself, "it seems I am an archi-
tect, then? It sounds like one of D'Artagnan's jokes, who
saw me acting as an engineer at Belle-Isle." Then he
added aloud, "Be easy on that score, monsieur; in our pro-
fession a mere glance and a good memory are quite
sufficient."

Baisemeaux did not change countenance, and the soldiers
took Aramis for what he seemed to be. "Very well; we
will first visit La Bertaudiere," said Baisemeaux, still in-
tending the sentinels to hear him. Then, turning to the
jailer, he added, "you will take the opportunity of carry-
ing to No. 2 the few dainties I pointed out."

"Dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux," said Aramis, "you are
always forgetting No. 3."

"So I am," said the governor; and upon that they be-
gan to ascend. The number of bolts, gratings, and locks
for this single courtyard would have sufficed for the safety
of an entire city. Aramis was neither an imaginative nor a
sensitive man; he had been somewhat of a poet in his youth,
but his heart was hard and indifferent, as the heart of every
man of fifty-five years of age is, who has been frequently
and passionately attached to women in his lifetime, or
rather, who has been passionately loved by them. But
when he placed his foot upon the worn stone steps, along
which so many unhappy wretches had passed, when he felt
himself impregnated, as it were, with the atmosphere of

176 TEN YEARS LATER.

those gloomy dungeons, moistened with tears, there conld
be but little doubt he was overcome by his feelings, for his
head was bowed and his eyes became dim as he followed
Baisemeaux without uttering a syllable.

CHAPTEE XXV,

THE SECOND FLOOR OF LA BERTAUDIERE.

On the second flight of stairs, whether from fatigue or
emotion, the breathing of the visitor began to fail him, and
he leaned against the wall. "Will you begin by this one?"
said Baisemeaux; "for since we are going to both, it mat-
ters very little whether we ascend from the second to the
third story, or descend from the third to the second."

"No, no," exclaimed Aramis eagerly, "higher, if you
please; the one above is the more urgent." They con-
tinued their ascent. "Ask the jailer for the keys?" whis-
pered Aramis. Baisemeaux did so, took the keys, and
himself opened the door of the third room. The jailer
was the first to enter; he placed upon the table the provi-
sions, which the kind-hearted governor called dainties, and
then left the room. The prisoner had not stirred; Baise-
meaux then entered, while Aramis remained at the thresh-
old, from which place he saw a youth about eighteen years
of age, who, raising his head at the unusual noise, jumped
off the bed as he perceived the governor, and clasping his
hands together, began to cry out, "My mother, my mother!"
in tones which betrayed such deep distress that Aramis,
despite his command over himself, felt a shudder pass
through his frame. "My dear boy," said Baisemeaux, en-
deavoring to smile, "I have brought you a diversion and an
extra — the one for the mind, the other for the body; this
gentleman has come to take your measure, and here are
some preserves for your dessert."

"Oh, monsieur!" exclaimed the young man, "keep me
in solitude for a year, let me have nothing but bread and
water for a year, but tell me that at the end of a year I shall
leave this place, tell me that at the end of a year I shall
then see my mother again."

"But I have heard you say that your mother was very
poor, and that you were very badly lodged when you were
living with her, while here — upon my word!"

"If she were poor, monsieur, the greater reason to restore

TEN YEARS LATER. 177

her only means of support to her. Badly lodged with her!
oh, monsieur, every one is well lodged when he is free."

"At all events, since you yourself admit you have done
nothing but write that unhappy distich "

"But without any intention, I swear. Let me be pun-
ished— cut off the hand which wrote it, I will work with
the other — but restore my mother to me."

"My boy," said Baisemeaux, "you know very well that
it does not depend upon me; all I can do for you is to in-
crease your rations, give you a glass of port wine now and
then, slip in a biscuit for you between a couple of plates."

"Great Heaven!" exclaimed the young man, falling back-
ward and rolling on the ground.

Aramis, unable to bear this scene any longer, withdrew
as far as the landing. "Unhappy, wretched man," he
murmured.

"Yes, monsieur, he is indeed very wretched," said the
jailer; "but it is his jDarents' fault."

"In what way?"

"No doubt. Why did they let him learn Lr.tin? Too
much knowledge, you see; it is that which does harm.
Now I, for instance, can't read or write, and therefore I am
not in prison." Aramis looked at the man, who seemed to
think that being a jailer in the Bastile was not being in
prison. As for Baisemeaux, noticing the little effect pro-
duced by his advice and his port wine, he left the dungeon
quite upset. "You have forgotten to close the door," said
the jailer.

"So I have," said Baisemeaux; "there are the keys, do
you do it."

"I will solicit the pardon of that poor boy," said Aramis.

"And if you do not succeed," said Baisemeaux, "at least
beg that he may be transferred to the ten-franc list, by
which both he and I shall be gainers."

"If the other prisoner calls out for his mother in a similar
manner," said Aramis, "I prefer not to enter at all, but
will take my measure from outside."

"No fear of that. Monsieur Architect, the one we are
now going to see is as gentle as a lamb; before he could call
after his mother he must open his lips, and he never says a
word."

"Let us go in, then," said Aramis gloomily.

"Are you the architect of the prisons, monsieur?" said
the jailer.

"lam."

178 TEN YEARS LATER.

"It is odd, then, that you are not more accustomed to all
this."

Aramis perceived that to avoid giving rise to any suspicions
he must summon all his strength of mind to his assistance.
Baisemeaux, who carried the keys, opened the door. "Stay
outside," he said to the jailer, "and wait for us at the bot-
tom of the steps." The jailer obeyed and withdrew.

Baisemeaux entered the first, and opened the second door
himself. By the light which filtered through the irou-
barred window could be seen a handsome young man, short
in stature, with closely cut hair, and a beard beginning to
grow; he was sitting on a stool, his elbow resting on an
armchair, and all the upper part of his body reclining
against it. His dress, thrown upon the bed, was of rich
black velvet, and he inhaled the fresh air which blew in
upon his breast through a shirt of the very finest cambric.
As the governor entered the young man turned his head
with a look full of indifference, and on recognizing Baise-
meaux he arose and saluted him courteously. But when
his eyes fell upon Aramis, who remained in the background,
the latter trembled, turned pale, and his hat, which he held
in his hand, fell upon the ground, as if all his muscles had
become relaxed at once. Baisemeaux, habituated to the
presence of his prisoner, did not seem to share any of the
sensations which Aramis experienced, but, with all the zeal
of a good servant, he busied himself in arranging on the
table the pastry and crawfish he had brought with him.
Occupied in this manner, he did not remark how disturbed
his guest had become. When he had finished, however, he
turned to the young prisoner and said: "You are looking
very well — are you so?"

"Quite well, I thank you, monsieur," replied the young
man.

The effect of the voice was such as almost to overpower
Aramis, and, notwithstanding his control over himself, he
advanced a few steps toward him, with his eyes wide open,
and his lips trembliug. The movement he made was so
marked that Baisemeaux, notwithstanding his occupation,
observed it. "This gentleman is an architect, who has
come to examine your chimney," said Baisemeaux; "does
it smoke?"

"Never, monsieur."

"You were saying just now," said the governor, rubbing
his hands together, "that it was not possible for a man to
be happy in prison; here, however, is one who is so. You
have nothing to complain of, I hope?"

TEN" YEAKS LATER. 179

"Nothing."

"Do you ever feel wearied?" said Aramis.

"Xever."

"Ha! ha!" said Baisemeaux, in a low tone of voice; "was
I right?"

"Well, my dear governor, it is impossible not to yield to
evidence. Is it allowed to put any question to him?"

"As many as you like."

"Very well; be good enough to ask him if he know^ why
he is here."

"This gentleman requests me to ask you," said Baise-
meaux, "if you are aware of the cause of your imprison-
ment?"

"No, monsieur," said the young man unaffectedly, "I
am not."

"That is hardly possible," said Aji-amis, carried away by
his feelings in spite of himself; "if you were really ignorant
of the cause of your detention you would be furious."

"I was so during the early days of my imprisonment."

"Why are you not so now?"

"Because I have reflected."

"That is strange," said Aramis.

"Is it not odd?" said Baisemeaux.

"May one venture to ask you, monsieur, on what you
have reflected?"

"I felt that as I had committed no crime Heaven could
not punish me."

"What is a prison, then," inquired Aramis, "if it be not
a punishment?"

"Alas! I cannot tell," said the young man; "all that I
can tell you now is the very opposite of what I felt seven
years ago."

"To hear you converse, to witness your resignation, one
might almost believe that you liked your imprisonment?"

"I endure it."

"In the certainty of recovering your freedom some day,
I suppose?"

"I have no certainty; hope I have, and that is all; and
yet I acknowledge that this hope becomes less every day."

"Still, why should you not again be free, since you have
already been so?"

"That is precisely the reason," replied the young man,
"which prevents me expecting liberty. Why should I have
been imprisoned at all if it had been intended to release me
afterward?"

180 TEN "YEAKS LATEK.

"How old are you?"

"I do not know."

"What is your name?"

"I have forgotten the name by which I was called."

"Who are your parents?"

"I never knew them."

"But those who brought you up?"

"They did not call me their son."

"Did you ever love any one before coming here?*'

"f loved my nurse and my flowers."

"Was that all?"

"I also loved my valet."

"Do you regret your nurse and your valet?"

"I wept very much when they died."

"Did they die since you have b^eu here, or before you
came?" ^

"They died the evening before I was carried off."

"Both at the same time?"

"Yes, both at the same time."

"In what manner were you carried off?"

"A man came for me, directed me to get into a carriage,
"which was closed and locked, and brought me here."

"Would you be able to recognize that man again?"

"He was masked."

"Is not this an extraordinary tale?" said Baisemeaux, in
a low tone of voice, to Aramis, who could hardly breathe.

"It is indeed extraordinary," he murmured.

"But what is still more extraordinary is, that he has
never told me so much as he has just told you."

"Perhai3S the reason may be that you have never ques-
tioned him," said Aramis.

"It's possible," replied Baisemeaux; "I have no curiosity.
Have you looked at the room; it's a fine one, is it not?"

"Very much so."

"A carpet "

"Beautiful."

"I'll wager he had nothing like it before he came here."

"I think so, too." And then, again turning toward the
young man, he said: "Do you not remember to have been
visited at some time or another by a strange lady or gentle-
man?"

"Yes, indeed; thrice by a woman, who each time came
to the door in a carriage, and entered covered with a veil,
which she raised when we were together and alone. '^

"Do you remember that woman?"

TEN YEAES LATER. 181

**Yes."

"What did she say to you?"

The yoiuig man smiled mournfully, and then replied:
"She inquired, as you have just done, if I were happy, and
if I were getting weary?"

"What did she do on arriving and on leaving you?"

"She pressed me in her arms, held me in her embrace,
and kissed me."

"Do you remember her?"

"Perfectly."

"Do you recall her features distinctly?"

"Yes."

"You would recognize her, then, if accident brought her
before you, or led you into her presence?"

"Most certainly."

A flush of fleeting satisfaction passed across Aramis'
face. At this moment Baisemeaux heard the jailer ap-
proaching. "Shall we leave?" he said hastily, to Aramis.

Aramis, who probably had learned all that he cared to
know, replied, "When you like."

The young man saw them prepare to leave, and saluted
them politely. Baisemeaux replied merely by a nod of the
head, while Aramis, with a respect arising, perhaps, from
the sight of such misfortune, saluted the prisoner pro-
foundly. They left the room, Baisemeaux closing the door
behind them.

"Well," said Baisemeaux as they descended the stair-
case, "what do you think of it all?"

"I -have discovered the secret, my dear governor," he
said. *

"Bah! what is the secret, then?"

"A murder was committed in that house."

"Nonsense."

"But attend: the valet and the nurse died the same day."

"Well?"

"And by poison. What do you think?"

"That it is very likely to be true."

"What! that that young man is an assassin?"

"Who said that? What makes you think that poor young
fellow could be an assassin?"

"The very thing I was saying. A crime was committed
in his house," said Aramis, "and that was quite sufficient;
perhaps he saw the criminals, and it was feared that he
might say something."

"The deuce! if I only thought that "

183 TEN TEAKS LATER.

"Well?"

"I would redouble the surveillance.'*

"Oh, he does not seem to wish to escape."

"You do not know what prisoners are.**

"Has he any books?"

"None; they are strictly prohibited, and under Monsieui
de Mazarin's own hand."

"Have you the writing still?"

"Yes, my lord; would you like to look at it as you return
to take your cloak?"

"I should, for I like to look at autographs."

"Well, then, this one is of the most unquestionable authen-
ticity; there is only one erasure."

"Ah! ah! an erasure; and in what respect?"

"With respect to a figure. At first there was written:
*To be boarded at fifty francs.' "

"As princes of the blood, in fact?"

"But the cardinal must have seen his mistake, you under-
stand; for he canceled the zero, and has added a one before
the five. But, by the bye "

"What?"

"You do not speak of the resemblance."

"I do not speak of it, dear Monsieur de Baisemeaux, for
a very simple reason — because it does not exist."

"The deuce it doesn't."

"Or, if it does exist, it is only in your own imagination;
but, supposing it were to exist elsewhere, I think it would
be better for you not to speak about it."

"Eeally."

"The king, Louis XIV! — you understand — would be ex-
cessively angry with you if he were to learn that you con-
tributed in any way to spread the report that one of his
subjects has the effrontery to resemble him."

"It is true, quite true," said Baisemeaux, thoroughly
alarmed; "but I have not spoken of the circumstance to
any one but yourself, and you understand, monseigneur,
that I perfectly rely on your being discreet."

"Oh, be easy."

"Do you still wish to see the note?"

"Certainly."

While engaged in this manner in conversation they had
returned to the governor's apartments. Baisemeaux took
from the cupboard a private register, like the one he had
already shown Aramis, but fastened by a lock, the key
which opened it being one of a small bunch of keys which

TEN YEARS LATER. 183

Baisemeaux always carried with him. Then placing the
book upon the table, he opened it at the letter M, and
showed Aramis the following note in the column of obser-
vations:

"No books at any time; all linen and clothes of the finest
and best quality to be procured; no exercise; always the
same jailer; no communications with any one. Musical
instruments; every liberty and every indulgence which his
welfare may require; to be boarded at fifteen francs. Mon-
sieur de Baisemeaux can claim more if the fifteen francs be
not sufficient."

"Ah," said Baisemeaux, "now I think of it, I shall claim
it."

Aramis shut the book. "Yes," he said, "it is indeed
Monsieur de Mazarin's handwriting; I recognize it well.
Now, my dear governor," he continued, as if this last com-
munication had exhausted his interest, "let us now turn to
our own little affairs."

"Well, what time for payment do you wish me to take?
Fix it yourself."

"There need not be any particular period fixed; give me a
simple acknowledgment for one hundred and fifty thousand
francs."

"When to be made payable?"

"When I require it. But you understand I shall only
wish it when you yourself do so."

"Oh, I am quite easy on that score," said Baisemeaux,
smiling; "but I have already given you two receipts."

"Which I now destroy," said Aramis; and, after having
shown the two receipts to Baisemeaux, he destroyed them.
Overcome by so great a mark of confidence, Baisemeaux
unhesitatingly wrote out an acknowledgment of a debt of
one hundred and fifty thousand francs, payable at the
. pleasure of the prelate. Aramis, who had, by glancing over
the governor's shoulder, followed the pen as he wrote, put
the acknowledgment into his pocket without seeming to
have read it, which made Baisemeaux perfectly easy.
"Now," said Aramis, "you would not be angry with me if
I were to carry off one of your prisoners?"

"What do you mean?"

"In obtaining his pardon, of course. Have I not already
told you that I took a great interest in poor Seldon?"

"Yes, quite true, you did so."

184 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"Well?"

"That is your affair; do as you think proper. I see you
have au oj)eii hand, and an arm that can reach a great way.'*

"Adieu, adieu." And Aramis left, carrying with him
the governor's blessings.

CHAPTER XXVl.

THE TWO FRIENDS.

At the very time M. de Baisemeaux was showing Aramis
the prisoners in the Bastile, a carriage drew up at Mme. de
Belliere's door, and, at that still early hour, a young woman
alighted, her head muffled in a silk hood. At the moment
the servants announced Mme. Vanel to Mme. de Belliere,
the latter was engaged, or rather, was absorbed, in reading
a letter, which she hurriedly concealed. She had hardly
finished her morning toilet, her woman being still in the
next room. At the name — at the footsteps of Marguerite
Vanel, Mme. de Belliere ran to meet her. She fancied she
could detect in her friend's eye a brightness which was
neither that of health nor of pleasure. Marguerite em-
braced her, pressed her hands, and hardly allowed her time
to speak. "Dearest," she said, "are you forgetting me?
Have you quite given yourself up to the pleasures of the
court?"

"I have not even seen the marriage /e^es."

"What are you doing with yourself, then?"

"I am getting ready to leave for Belliere."

"For Belliere?"

"Yes."

"You are becoming rustic in your tastes then; I delight
to see you so disposed. But you are pale."

"No, I am perfectly well."

"So much the better; I was becoming uneasy about you.-
You do not know what I have been told."

"People say so many things."

"Yes, but this is very singular."

"How well you know how to excite curiosity. Marguerite."

"Well, I was afraid of vexing you."

"Never; you have yourself always admired me for my
evenness of temper."

"Well, then, it is said, that — no, I shall never be able to
tell you."

TEN YEARS LATER. 185

"Do not let us talk about it, then," said Mme. de Bel-
liere, who detected the ill-nature which was concealed by
all these prefaces, yet felt the most anxious curiosity on the
subject.

''Well, then, my dear marquise, it is said that for some
time past you no longer continue to regret Monsieur de
Belliere as you used to do."

"It is an ill-natured report. Marguerite. I do regret,
and shall always regret my husband; but it is now two years
since he died. I am only twenty-eight years old, and my
grief at his loss ought not always to control every action
and thought of my life. You, Marguerite, who are the
model of a wife, would not believe me if I were to say so."

"Why not? Your heart is so soft and yielding," she
said spitefully.

"Yours is so, too. Marguerite, and yet I did not perceive
that you allowed yourself to be overcome by grief when your
heart was wounded." These words were in direct allusion
to Marguerite's rupture with the surintendant, and were
also a veiled but direct reproach made against her friend's
heart.

As if she only awaited this signal to discharge her shaft,
Marguerite exclaimed, "Well, Eliza, it is said you are in
love." And she looked fixedly at Mme. de Belliere, who
blushed without being able to prevent it.

"Women never escape slander," replied the marquise,
after a moment's pause. #

"No one slanders you, Eliza."

"What! people say that I am in love, and yet they do not
slander me!"

"In the first place, if it be true, there is no slander, but
simply a scandal-loving report. In the next place — for you
did not allow me to finish what I was saying — the public
does not assert that you have abandoned yourself to this
passion. It represents you, on the contrary, as a virtuous
but loving woman, defending herself with claws and teeth,
shutting yourself up in your own house as in a fortress,
and in other respects as impenetrable as that of Danae, not-
withstanding Danae's tower was made of brass."

"You are witty. Marguerite," said Mme. de Belliere
tremblingly.

"You always flatter me, Eliza. To be brief, however,
you are reported to be incorruptible and unapproachable.
You can decide whether people calumniate you or not; but
what is it you are musing about while I am speaking to
you?"

186 ' TEN TEARS LATER.

"I?"

"Yes; you are blushing and are quite silent."

"I was trying," said the marquise, raising her beautiful
eyes brightened with an indication of approaching anger,
"I was trying to discover to what you could possibly have
alluded, you who are so learned in mythological subjects,
in comparing me to Danae."

"You were trying to guess that," said Marguerite,
laughing.

"Yes; do you not remember that at the convent, when
we were solving our problems in arithmetic — ah! what I
have to tell you is learned also, but it is my turn — do you
not remember that if one of the terms were given we were
to find out the other? Therefore, do you guess now?"

"I cannot conjecture what you mean."

"And yet nothing is more simple."

"You pretend that I am in love, do you not?"

"So it is said."

"Very well; it is not said, I suppose, that I am in love
with an abstraction. There must surely be a name men-
tioned in this report."

"Certainly, a name is mentioned."

"Very well; it is not surprising, then, that I should try
to guess this name, since you do not tell it me."

"My dear marquise, when I saw you blush I did not
think you would have to spend much time in conjectures."

"It was the word Danae which you used that surprised
me. Danae means a shower of gold, does it not?"

"That is to say that the Jupiter of Danae changed him-
self into a shower of gold for her."

"My lover, then, he whom you assign me "

"I beg your pardon; I am your friend, and assign you no
one."

"That may be; but those who are evilly disposed toward
me."

"Do you wish to hear the name?"

"I have been waiting this half-hour for it."

"Well, then, you shall hear it. Do not be shocked; he
is a man high in power."

"Good," said the marquise, as she clinched her hands
like a patient at the approach of the knife.

"He is a very wealthy man," continued Marguerite; "the
wealthiest, it may be. In a word, it is "

The marquise closed her eyes for a moment.

"It is the Duke of Buckingham," said Marguerite, burst

TEN YEAKS LATER. 187

ing into laughter. The perfidiousness had been calculated
with extreme ability; the name that was prouounced, in-
stead of the name which the marquise awaited, had pre-
cisely the same eli'ect upon her as the badly sharpened axes,
which had hacked, without destroying, Messieurs de Chalais
and De Thou upon their scaffolds, had upon them. She
recovered herself, however, and said:

''I was perfectly right in saying you were a witty woman,
for you are making the time pass away most agreeably.
The joke is a most amusing one, for I have never seen the
Duke of Buckingham."

"Never!" said Marguerite, restraining her laiighter.

"I have never even left my own house since the duke has
been at Paris."

"Oh!" resumed Mme. Vanel, stretching out her foot
toward a paper which was lying on the carpet near the win-
dow, "it is not necessary for people to see one another,
since they can write."

The marquise trembled, for this paper was the envelope
of the letter she was reading as her friend had entered, and
was sealed with the surintendant's arms. As she leaned
back on the sofa on which she was sitting Mme. Belliere
covered the paper with the thick folds of her large silk
dress, and so concealed it.

"Come, Marguerite, tell me, is it to tell me all these
foolish reports that you have come to see me so early in the
day?"

"No; 1 came to see you in the first place, and to remind
you of those habits of our earlier days, so delightful to re-
member, when we used to wander about together at Vin-
cennes, and, sitting beneath an oak, or in some sylvan
shade, used to talk of those we loved, and who loved us."

"Do you propose that we should go out together now?"

"My carriage is here, and I have three hours at my
disposal."

"I am not dressed yet. Marguerite; but if you wish that
we should talk together, we can, without going to the
woods of Vincennes, find in my own garden here beautiful
trees, shady groves, a greensward covered with daisies and
violets, the perfume of which can be perceived from where
we are sitting."

"I regret your refusal, my dear marquise, for I wanted
to pour out my whole heart into yours."

"I repeat it again. Marguerite, my heart is yours just as
much in this room, or beneath the lime-trees in the garden
here, as it is under the oaks in the wood yondero"

188 TEN TEAES LATER.

"It is not the same thing for me. In approaching tiearer
to Vincennes, marquise, my ardent aspirations approach
nearer to that object toward which they have for some days
past been directed." Tlie marquise suddenly raised her
head. "Are you surprised, then, that I am still thinking
of St. Mande?"

"Of St. Mande!" exclaimed Mme. de Belliere; and the
looks of both women met each other like two swords rest-
less at the first time their blades were crossed.

"You, so proud, too!" said the marquise disdainfully.

"I, so proud!" replied Mme. Vanel. "Such is my
nature. I do not forgive neglect — I cannot endure infidel-
ity. When I leave any one who weeps at my abandonment
I feel induced still to love him; but W'hen others forsake me
and laugh at their infidelity I love distractedly."

Mme. de Belliere could not restrain an involuntary
movement.

"She is jealous," said Marguerite to herself.

"Then," continued the marquise, "you are quite enam-
ored of the Duke of Buckingham — I mean, of Monsieur
Fouquet?" Eliza felt the allusion, and all her blood seemed
to have flowed toward her heart. "And you wished to go
to Vincennes — to St. Mande even?"

"I hardly know what I wished; you would have advised
me, perhaps."

"In what respect?"

"You have often done so."

"Most certainly I should not have done so in the present
instance, for I do not forgive as you do. I am less loving,
perhaps; but when my heart has been once wounded, it
remains so always."

"But Monsieur Fouquet has not wounded you," said
Marquise Vanel, with the most perfect simplicity.

"You perfectly understand what I mean. Monsieur
Fouquet has not wounded me; I do not know him either
from any obligation or any injury received at his hands,
but you have reason to complain of him. You are my
friend, and I am afraid I should not advise you as you
would like."

"Ah! you are prejudging the case."

"The sighs you spoke of just now are more than
indications."

"You overwhelm me," said the young woman suddenly,
as if collecting her whole strength, like a wrestler prepar-
ing for a last struggle; "you take only my evil dispositions

TEN YEAKS LATER. 189

and my weaknesses into calculation, and do not speak of
the pure and generous feelings which I have. If, at this
moment, I feel instinctively attracted towara the surin-
tendant, if I even make an advance to him, and which, I
confess, is very probable, my motive for it is, that Monsieur
Fouquet's fate deeply affects me, and because he is, in my
opinion, one of the most unfortunate men living."

"Ah!" said the marquise, placing her hand upon her
heart, "something new, then, has occurred."

"Do you not know it?"

"I am utterly ignorant of everything about him," said
Mme. de Belliere, with that palpitation of anguish which
suspends thought and speech, and even life itself.

"In the first place, then, the king's favor is entirely
withdrawn from Monsieur Fouquet, and conferred on Mon-
sieur Colbert."

"So it is stated."

"It is very clear, since the discovery of the plot of Belle-
Isle."

"I was told that the discovery of the fortifications there
had turned out to Monsieur Fouquet's honor."

Marguerite began to laugh in so cruel a manner that
Mme. de Belliere could at that moment have delightedly
plunged a dagger in her bosom.

"Dearest," continued Marguerite, "there is no longer
any question of Monsieur Fouquet's honor; his safety is
concerned. Before three days are past the ruin of the
surintendant will be complete."

"Stay," said the marquise, in her turn smiling; "that is
going a little too fast."

"I said three days, because I wish to deceive myself with
a hope; but most certainly the catastrophe will not extend
beyond twenty-four hours."

"Why so?"

"For the simplest of all reasons — that Monsieur Fouquet
has no more money."

"In matters of finance, my dear Marguerite, some are
without money to day who to-morrow can procure millions."

"That might be Monsieur Fouquet's case when he had
two wealthy and clever friends who amassed money for him,
and wrung it from every source; but these friends are
dead."

"Money does not die, Marguerite; it may be concealed;
but it can be looked for, bought, and found."

"You see things on the bright side, and so much the

190 TEN YEARS LATER.

better for you. It is really very unfortunate that you are
not the Egeria of Monsieur Fouquet; you might show him
the source whence he could obtain the millions which the
king asked him for yesterday."

"Millions!" said the marquise, in terror.

"Four — an even number."

"Infamous!" murmured Mme. de Belliere, tortured by
her friend's merciless delight.

"Monsieur Fouquet, I should think, must certainly have
four millions," she replied courageously.

"If he has those which the king requires to-day," said
Marguerite, "he will not perhaps possess those which the
king will require in a month."

"The king will require money from him again, then?"

"No doubt; and that is my reason for saying that the
ruin of this poor Monsieur Fouquet is inevitable. Pride
will induce him to. furnish the money, and when he has no
more he will fail,"

"It is true," said the marquise tremblingly; "the plan
is a bold one; but tell me, does Monsieur Colbert hate
Monsieur Fouquet so very much?"

"I think he does not like him. Monsieur Colbert is
powerful; he improves on close acquaintance; he has gigan-
tic ideas, a strong will, and discretion; he will make great
strides."

"He will be surintendant?"

"It is probable. Such is the reason, my dear marquise,
why I felt myself impressed in favor of that poor man, who
once loved, nay, even adored me; and why, when I see him
so unfortunate, I forgive his infidelity, which I have reason
to believe he also regrets; and why, moreover, I should not
have been disinclined to afford him some consolation, or
some good advice; he would have understood the step I had
taken, and would have thought kindly of me for it. It is
gratifying to be loved, you know. Men value love highly
when they are no longer blinded by its influence."

The marquise, bewildered, and overcome by these cruel
attacks, which had been calculated with the greatest cor-
rectness and precision of aim, hardly knew what answer to
return; she even seemed to have lost all power of thought.
Her perfidious friend's voice had assumed the most affec-
tionate tone; she spoke as a woman, but concealed the
instincts of a panther.

""V^ell," said Mme. de Belliere, who had a vague hope
that Marguerite would cease to overwhelm a vanquished
enemy, "why do you not go and see Monsieur Fouquet?"

TEN YEARS LATER. 191

''Decidedly, marquise, you have made me reflect. No, it
would be unbecoming for me to make the first advance.
Monsieur Fouquet no doubt loves me, but he is too proud.
I cannot ex^jose myself to an affront — besides, I have
my husband to consider. You say nothing to me. Very
well, I shall consult Monsieur Colbert on the subject."

Marguerite rose smilingly, as though to take leave, but
the marquise had not the strength to imitate her. Mar-
guerite advanced a few paces, in order that she might con-
tinue to enjoy the humiliating grief in which her rival was
plunged, and then said suddenly:

"You do not accompany me to the door, then?"

The marquise rose, pale and almost lifeless, without
thinking of the envelope, which had occupied her attention
so greatly at the commencement of the conversation, and
which was revealed at the first step she took. She then
opened the door of her oratory, and without even turning
her head toward Marguerite Vanel, entered it, closing the
door after her. Marguerite said, or, rather muttered, a
few words, which Mme. de Belliere did not even hear. As
soon, however, as the marquise had disappeared, ber envious
enemy, not being able to resist the desire to satisfy herself
that her suspicions were really founded, advanced stealthily
toward it like a panther, and seized the envelope.

"Ah!" she said, gnashing her teeth, "it was indeed a
letter from Monsieur Fouquet she was reading when I
arrived,^' and then darted out of the room. During this
interval, the marquise, having arrived behind the rampart,
as it were, of her door, felt that her strength was failing
her; for a moment she remained rigid, pale, and motionless
as a statue; and then, like a statue shaken on its base by a
storm of wind, she tottered and fell inanimate on the carpet.
The noise of the fall resounded at the same moment as the
rolling of Marguerite's carriage leaving the hotel was heard.

CHAPTEE XXVII.

MME. DE BELLIERE'S PLATE.

The blow had been the more painful on account of its
being unexpected. It was some time before the marquise
recovered herself; but, once recovered, she began to' reflect
upon the events which had been announced to her. She,
therefore, returned, at the risk even of losing her life in

192 TEN YEARS LATER.

the way, to that train of ideas which her relentless friend
had forced her to pursue. Treason, then — dark menaces
concealed under the semblance of public interest — such
were Colbert's maneuvers. A detestable delight at . an
approaching downfall, untiring efforts to attain this object,
means of seduction no less wicked than the crime itself — •
such were the means which Marguerite employed. The
crooked atoms of Descartes triumphed; to the man without
compassion was united a woman without a heart. The
marquise perceived, with sorrow rather than with indigna-
tion, that the king was an accomplice in the plot which
betrayed the duplicity of Louis XIII., in his advanced age,
and the avarice of Mazarin at a period of life when he had
not had the opportunity of gorging himself with French
gold. The spirit of this courageous woman soon resumed
its energy, and was no longer interrupted by a mere indul-
gence in compassionate lamentations. The marquise was
not one to weep when action was necessary, nor to waste
time in bewailing a misfortune when means still existed of
relieving it. For some minutes she buried her face in her
icy hands, and then, raising her head, rang for her attend-
ants with a steady hand, and with a gesture betraying a
fixed determination of purpose. Her resolution was taken.

"Is everything prepared for my departure?" she inquired
of one of her female attendants who entered.

"Yes, madame; but it was not expected that your lady-
ship would leave for Belliere for the next few days."

"All my jewels and articles of value, then, are locked
up?"

"Yes, madame; but hitherto we have been in the habit of
leaving them in Paris. Your ladyship does not generally
take your jewels with you into the country."

"But they are all in order, you say?"

"Yes, in your ladvship's own room."

"The gold plate?"

"In the chest."

"And the silver plate?"

"In the large oaken closet."

The marquise remained silent for a few moments, and
then said calmly, "Let my goldsmith be sent for."

Her attendants quitted the room to execute the order.
The marquise, however, had entered her own room, and
inspected her casket of jewels with the greatest attention.
Never, untiLnow, had she bestowed so much attention upon
riches in which women take so much pride; never, until

TEN TEARS LATER. 193

now, had she looked at her Jewels, except for the purpose
of making a selection according to their settings or their
colors. On this occasion, however, she admired the size of
the rubies and the brilliancy of the diamonds; she grieved
over every blemish and every defect; she thought the gold
light, and the stones wretched. The goldsmith, as he
entered, found her thus occupied. "Monsieur Faucheux,"
she said, "I believe you supplied me with my gold service?"

"I did, your ladyship."

"I do not remember the amount of the account."

"Of the new service, madame, or of that which Monsieur
de Belliere presented to you on your marriage? for I
furnished both."

"First of all, the new one?"

"The covers, the goblets, and the dishes, with their
covers, the eeau-pergne, the ice-pails, the dishes for the
preserves, and the tea and coffee urns, cost your ladyship
sixty thousand francs."

"No more?"

"Your ladyship thought the account very high."

"Yes, yes; I remember, in fact, that it was dear; but it
was the workmanship, I suppose?"

"Yes, madame; the designs, the chasings, and new
patterns."

"What proportion of the cost does the workmanship
form? Do not hesitate to tell me."

"A third of its value, madame."

"There is the other service, the old one, that which be-
longed to my husband?"

"Yes, madame; there is less workmanship in that than in
the other. Its intrinsic value does not exceed thirty thou-
sand francs."

"Thirty thousand," murmured the marquise. "But,
Monsieur Faucheux, there is also the service which belonged
to my mother; all that massive plate which I did not wish
to part with, on account of the associations connected with
it."

"Ah! madame, that would indeed be an excellent re-
source for those who, unlike your ladyship, might not be in
a position to keep their plate. In working that, one worked
in solid metal. But that service is no longer in fashion.
Its weight is its only advantage."

"That is all I care about. How much does it weigh?"

"Fifty thousand livres at the very least. I do not allude
to the enormous vases for the buffet, which alone weigh five
thousand livres, or ten thousand the two." j

Dumas— Vol. XV.

194 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"One hundred and thirty," murmured the marquise,
"You are quite sure of your figures, Monsieur Faucheux?"

"Positive, madame. Besides, there is no difficulty in
weighing them."

"The amount is entered in my books."

"Your ladyship is extremely methodical, I am aware."

"Let us now turn to another subject," said Mme. de Bel-
liere, and she opened one of her jewel-boxes.

"I recognize these emeralds," said M. Faucheux; "for it
was I who had the setting of them. They are the most
beautiful in the whole court. No, I am mistaken; Madame
de Chatillon has the most beautiful set; she had them from
Messieurs de Guise; but your set, madame, are next."

"What are they worths"

"Mounted?"

"No; supposing I wished to sell them."

"I know very well who would buy them," exclaimed M.
Faucheux.

"That is the very thing I ask. They could be purchased,
then?"

"All your jewels could be bought. It is well known that
you possess the most beautiful jewels in Paris. You aro
not changeable in your tastes; when you make a purchase
it is of the very best; and what you purchase you do nob
part with."

"What could these emeralds be sold for, then?"

"A hundred and thirty thousand francs."

The marquise wrote down upon her tablets the amount
which the jeweler mentioned. "The ruby necklace?" she
said.

"Are they Balass rubies, madame?"

"Here they are."

"They are beautiful — magnificent. I did not know that
your ladyshijo had these stones."

"What is their value?"

"Two hundred thousand francs. The center one is alone
worth a hundred."

"I thought so," said the marquise. "As for diamonds, I
have them in numbers; rings, necklaces, sprigs, earrings,
clasps. Tell me their value. Monsieur Faucheux."

The jeweler took his magnifying-glass and scales, weighed
and inspected them, and then silently made his calculations.
"These stones," he said, "must have cost your ladyship an
income of forty thousand francs."

"You value them at eight hundred thousand francs."

TEN- YEARS LATER. 195

''Nearly so."

"It is about what I imagined — but the settings are not
included."

"No, madame; but if I were called upon to sell or to buy,
I should be satisfied with the gold of the settings alone as
my profit upon the transaction. I should make a good
twenty-five thousand francs."

"An agreeable sum."

"Very so, madame."

"Will you accept that profit, then, on condition of con-
verting the jewels into money?"

"But you do not intend to sell your diamonds, I suppose,
madame?" exclaimed the bewildered jeweler.

"Silence, Monsieur Faucheux; do not disturb yourself
about that; give me an answer simply. You are an honor-
able man, with whom my family has dealt for thirty years;
you have known my father and mother, whom your own
father and mother had served. I address you as a friend;
will you accept the gold of the settings in return for a sum
of ready money to be placed in my hands?"

"Eight hundred thousand francs! it is enormous."

"I know it."

"Impossible to find."

"Not so."

"But refiect, madame, upon the effect which will be pro-
duced by the sale of your jewels."

"No one need know it. You can get sets of false jewels
made for me, similar to the real. Do not answer a word; I
insist upon it. Sell them separately, sell the stones only."

"In that way it is easy. Monsieur is looking out for some
sets of jewels as well as single stones for madame's toilet.
There will be a competition for them. I can easily dispose
of six hundred thousand francs' worth to Monsieur. I am
certain yours are the most beautiful."

"When can you do so?"

"In less than three days' time."

"Very well; the remainder you will dispose of among
private individuals. For the present, make me out a con-
tract of sale, payment to be made in four days."

"I entreat you to reflect, madame; for if you force the
sale, you will lose a hundred thousand francs."

"If necessary, I will lose two hundred; I wish everything
to be settled this evening. Do you accept?"

"I do, your ladyship. I will not conceal from you that I
shall make fifty thousand francs by the transaction."

196 TEN YEARS LATER.

"So mucli the better. In what way shall I have the
money?"

"Either in gold, or in bills of the bank of Lyons, payable
at Monsieur Colbert's."

"I agree," said the marquise eagerly; "return home and
bring the sum in question in notes, as soon as possible."

"Yes, madame; but for Heaven's sake "

"Not a word, Monsieur Faucheux. By the bye, I was
forgetting the silver plate. What is the value of that which
I have?"

"Fifty thousand francs, madame."

"That makes a million," said the marquise to herself.
"Monsieur Faucheux, you will take away with you both
the gold and silver plate. I can assign, as a pretext, that I
wish it remodeled for patterns more in accordance with my
own taste. Melt it down, and return me its value in money,
at once."

"It shall be done, your ladyship."

"You will be good enough to place the money in a chest,
and direct one of your clerks to accompany the chest, and
without my servants seeing him; and direct him also to
wait for me in a carriage."

"In Madame de Faucheux's carriage?" said the jeweler.

"If you will allow it, and I will call for it at your house."

"Certainly, your ladyship."

"I will direct some of my servants to convey the plate to
your house." The marquise rang. "Let the small van be
placed at Monsieur Faucheux's disposal," she said. The
jeweler bowed and left the house, directing that the van
should follow him closely, saying aloud that the marquise
was about to have her plate melted down in order to have
other plate manufactured of a more modern style. Three
hours afterward she went to M. Faucheux's house and re-
ceived from him eight hundred thousand francs in gold
inclosed in a chest, which one of the clerks could carry to-
ward Mme. Faucheux's carriage — for Mme. Faucheux kept
her carriage. As the daughter of a president of accounts,
she had brought a marriage portion of thirty thousand
crowns to her husband, who was syndic of the goldsmiths.
These thirty thousand crowns had become very fruitful
during twenty years. The jeweler, though a millionaire,
was a mode«t man. He had purchased a venerable carriage,
built in I648, ten years after the king's birth. This car-
riage, or rather, house upon wheels, excited the admiration
of the whole quarter in which he resided; it was covered

TEN YEARS LATER. 197

with allegorical paintings and clouds scattered over with
stars. The marquise entered this somewhat extraordinary
vehicle, sitting opposite to the clerk, who endeavored to
put his knees out of the way, afraid even of touching the
marquise's dress. It was the clerk, too, who told the
coachman, who was very proud of having a marquise to drive,
to take the road to St. Mande.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE DOWRY.

Monsieur Faucheux's horses were serviceable animals,
with thick knees, and legs which they had some difficulty
in moving. Like the carriage, they belonged to the earlier
part of the century. They were not as fleet, therefore, as
the English horses of M. Fouquet, and consequently took
two hours to get to St. Mande. Their progress, it might
be said, was majestic. Majesty, however, precludes hurry.
The marquise stopped the carriage at a door well known to
her, although she had only seen it once, in a circumstance,
it will be remembered, no less painful than that which
brought her to it again on the present occasion. She drew
a key from her pocket, and inserted it in the lock, pushed
open the door, which noiselessly yielded to her touch, and
directed the clerk to carry the chest ujastairs to the first
floor. The weight of the chest was so great that the clerk
was obliged to get the coachman to assist him with it.
They placed it in a small cabinet, anteroom, or boudoir
rather, adjoining the saloon where he once saw M, Fouquet
at the marquise's feet. Mme. de Belliere gave the coach-
man a louis, smiled gracefully at the clerk, and dismissed
them both. She closed the door after them and waited in
the room, alone and barricaded. There was no servant to
be seen about the rooms, but everything was prepared as
though some invisible genius had divined the wishes and
desires of the guest who was expected. The fire was laid,
the candles in the candelabra, refreshments upon the table,
books scattered about, fresh-cut flowers in the vases. One
might almost have declared it to be an enchanted house.
The marquise lighted the candles, inhaled the perfume of
the flowers, sat down, and was soon plunged in profound
thought. Her deep musings, melancholy though they
were, were not untinged with a certain sweetness. Spread

198 TEN" TEARS LATER.

out before her was a treasure, a million wrung from her
fortune as a gleaner plucks the blue corn-flower from her
crown of flowers. She conjured up the sweetest dreams.
Her principal thought^ and one that took precedence of all
others, was to devise means of leaving this money for M.
Fouquet without his possibly learning from whom the gift
had come. This idea, naturally enough, was the first to
present itself to her mind. But although, on reflection, it
appeared difficult to carry out, she did not despair of suc-
cess. She would then ring to summon M. Fouquet and
make her escape, happier if, instead of having given a mil-
lion, she had herself found one. But, being there, and
having seen the boudoir so coquettishly decorated that it
might almost be said the least particle of dust had but the
moment before been removed by the servants; having
observed the drawing-room so perfectly arranged that it
might almost be said her presence there had driven away
the fairies who were its occupants, she asked herself if the
glance or gaze of those whom she had driven away — whether
spirits, fairies, elves, or human creatures — had not already
recognized her. To secure success, it was necessary that
some steps should be seriously taken, and it was necessary
also that the surintendant should comprehend the serious
position in which he was placed, in order to yield com-
pliance with the generous fancies of a woman; all the fasci-
nation of an eloquent friendship would be required to per-
suade him, and, should this be insufficient, the maddening
influence of a devoted passion, which, in its resolute deter-
mination to carry conviction, would not be turned aside.
Was not the surintendant, indeed, known for his delicacy
and dignity of feeling? Would he allow himself to accept
from any woman that of which she had stripped herself?
No! He would resist, and if any voice in the world could
overcome his resistance, it would be the voice of the woman
he loved. Another doubt, and that a cruel one, suggested
itself to Mme. de Belliere with a sharp, acute pain, like a
dagger-thrust. "Did he really love her? Would that
volatile mind, that inconstant heart, be likely to be fixed
for a moment, even were it to gaze upon an angel? Was it
not the same with Fouquet, notwithstanding his genius and
his uprightness of conduct, as with those conquerors on the
field of battle who shed tears when they have gained a vic-
tory? I must learn if it be so, and must Judge that for
myself," said the marquise. "Who can tell whether that
heart, so coveted, is not common in its impulses, and full

TEN YEARS LATER. 199

of alloy? Who can tell if that mind, when the touclistone
is api^lied to it, will not be found of a mean and vulgar
character? Come, come," she said, "this is doubting and
hesitating too much — to the proof." She looked at the
timepiece. "It is now seven o'clock," she said; "he must
have arrived; it is the hour for signing his papers." With
a feverish impatience she rose and walked toward the mir-
ror, in which she smiled with a resolute smile of devoted-
ness; she touched the spring and drew out the handle of
the bell. Then, as if exhausted beforehand by the struggle
she had just undergone, she threw herself on her knees, in
utter abandonment, before a large couch, in which she
buried her face in her trembling hands. Ten minutes
afterward she heard the spring of the door sound. The
door moved upon invisible hinges, and Fouquet appeared.
He looked pale, and seemed bowed down by the weight of
some bitter reflection. He did not hurry, but simply came
at the summons. The preoccupation of his mind must
indeed have been very great, that a man, so devoted to
pleasure, from whom indeed pleasure was everything, should
obey such a summons so listlessly. The previous night, in
fact, fertile in melancholy ideas, had sharpened his features,
generally so noble in their indifference of expression, and
had traced dark lines of anxiety around his eyes. Hand-
some and noble he still was, and the melancholy expression
of his mouth, a rare expression with men, gave a new char-
acter to his features, by which his youth seemed to be re-
newed. Dressed in black, the lace in front of his chest
much disarranged by his feverishly restless hand, the looks
of the surintendant, full of dreamy reflection, were fixed
upon the threshold of the room which he had so frequently
approached in search of expected happiness. This gloomy
gentleness of manner, this smiling sadness of expression,
which had replaced his former excessive joy, produced an
indescribable effect upon Mme. de Belliere, who was regard-
ing him at a distance. A woman's eye can read the face of
the man she loves, its every feeling of pride, its every ex-
pression of suffering; it might almost be said that Heaven
has graciously granted to women, on account of their very
weakness, more than it has accorded to other creatures.
They can conceal their own feelings from a man, but from
them no man can conceal his. The marquise divined in a
single glance the whole weight of the unhappiness of the
surintendant. She divined a night passed without sleep, a
day passed in deceptions. From that moment she was firm

200 TEN" TEAES LATEK.

in her own strength, and she felt that she loved Fouquet
beyond everything else. She rose and approached him,
saying, "You wrote to me this morning to say you were be-
ginning to forget me, and that I, whom you had not seen
lately, had no doubt ceased to think of you. I have come
to undeceive you, monsieur, and the more completely so,
because there is one thing I can read iu your eyes."

''What is that, madame?" said Fouquet, astonished.

"That you have never loved me so much as at this
moment; in the same manner you can read, in my present
steps toward you, that I have not forgotten you."

"Oh, madame!" said Fouquet, whose face was for a
moment lighted up by a sudden gleam of joy, "you are
indeed an angel, and no man can suspect you. All he can
do is to humble himself before you, and entreat forgiveness."

"Your forgiveness is granted, then," said the marquise.
Fouquet was about to throw himself upon his knees. "No,
no," she said, "sit here by my side. Ah! that is an evil
thought which has just crossed your mind."

"How do you detect it, madame?"

"By a smile which has just injured the expression of your
countenance. Be candid, and tell me what your thought
was — no secrets between friends."

"Tell me, then, madame, why have you been so harsh
these three or four months past?"

"Harsh?"

"Yes; did you not forbid me to visit you?"

"Alas!" said Mme. de Belliere, sighing, "because your
visit to me was the cause of your being visited with a great
misfortune; because my house is watched; because the same
eyes which have already seen you might see you again;
because I think it less dangerous for you that I should come
here than that you should come to my house; and, lastly,
because I know you to be already unhappy enough not to
wish to increase your unhappiness further."

Fouquet started, for these words recalled all the anxieties
connected with his office of surintendant — he who, for the
last few minutes, had indulged in all the wild aspirations of
the lover. "I unhappy?" he said, endeavoring to smile;
"indeed, marquise, you will almost make me believe that I
am so, judging from your own sadness. Are your beautiful
eyes raised upon me merely in pity? — I look for another ex-
pression from them,"

"It is not I who am sad, monsieur; look in the mirror
there — it is you who are so."

TEN" YEARS LATER. 201

"It is true I am somewhat pale, marquise; but it is from
overwork; the king yesterday required a supply of money
from me."

"Yes, four millions; I am aware of it."

"You know it?" exclaimed Fouquet, in a tone of sur-
prise; "how can you have learned it? It was after the de-
parture of the queen, and in the presence of one person
only, that the king ■"

"You perceive that I do knOw it; is not that sufficient?
Well, go on, monsieur; the money the king has required
you to supply — • — •"

"You understand, marquise, that I have been obliged to
procure it, then to get it counted, afterward registered —
altogether a long affair. Since Monsieur de Mazariu's
death, financial affairs occasion some little fatigue and em-
barrassment. My administration is somewhat overtaxed,
and this is the reason why I have not slept during the past
night."

"So that you have the amount?" inquired the marquise,
with some anxiety.

"It would indeed be strange, marquise," replied Fouquet
cheerfully, "if a surintendant of finances were not to have
a paltry four millions in his coffers."

"Yes, yes, I believe you either have, or will have, them."

"What do you mean by saying I shall have them?"

"It is not very long since you were required to furnish
two millions."

"On the contrary, to me it seems almost an age; but do
not let us talk of money matters any longer."

"On the contrary, we will continue to speak of them, for
that is my only reason for coming to see you."

"I am at a loss to know your meaning," said the surin-
tendant, whose eyes began to express an anxious curiosity.

"Tell me, monsieur, is the office of surintendant an irre-
movable one?"

"You surprise me, marchioness, for you speak as if you
had some motive or interest in putting the question."

"My reason is simple enough; I am desirous of placing
some money in your hands, and naturally I wish to know if
you are certain of your post."

"Keally, marquise, I am at a loss what to reply, and I
cannot conceive your meaning."

"Seriously then, dear Monsieur Fouquet, I have certain
funds which somewhat embarrass me. I am tired of invest-
ing my money in land, and am anxious to intrust a friend
to turn it to account."

202 TE2f YEARS LATER.

"Surely it does not press/' said M. Fouquet.

"On tlie contrary, it is very pressing."

"Very well, we will talk of that by and by."

"By and by will not do, for my money is there/' returned
the marquise, pointing out the cofEer to the surintendant,
and showing him, as she opened it, the bundles of notes
and heaps of gold. Fouquet, who had risen from his seat
at the same moment as Mme. de Belliere, remained for a
moment plunged in thought; theu, suddenly starting back,
he turned pale, and sank down in his chair, concealing his
face in his hands. "Madame, madame," he murmured,
"what opinion can you have of me when you make me such
an offer?"

"Of you!" returned the marquise. "Tell me, rather,
what you yourself think of the step I have taken."

"You bring me this money for myself, and you bring it
because you know me to be embarrassed. Nay, do not
deny it, for I am sure of it. Do I not know your heart?"

"If you know my heart, then, can you not see that it is
my heart which I offer you."

"I have guessed rightly, then?" exclaimed Fouquet.
"In truth, madame, I have never yet given you the right to
insult me in this manner."

"Insult you," she said, turning pale, "what singular deli-
cacy of feeling! You tell me you love me; in the name of
that affection you wish me to sacrifice my reputation and
my honor, yet, when I offer you money, which is my own,
you refuse me."

"Madame, you are at liberty to preserve what you term
your reputation and your honor. Permit me to preserve
mine. Leave me to my ruin, leave me to sink beneath the
weight of the hatreds which surround me, beneath the
faults I have committed, beneath the load even of my re-
morse; but, for Heaven'3 sake, madame, do not overwhelm
me under this last infliction."

"A short time since. Monsieur Fouquet, you were want-
ing in judgment, now you are wanting in feeling."

Fouquet pressed his clinched hand upon his breast, heav-
ing with emotion, saying: "Overwhelm me, madame, for I
have nothing to reply."

"I offered you my friendship, Monsieur Fouquet."

"Yes, madame, and you limited yourself to that."

"And what I am now doing is the act of a friend/*

"No doubt it is."

*'And you reject this mark of my friendship?"

TEN" TEARS LATER. 203

*'I do reject it."

"Monsieur Fouquet, look at me/' said the marquise,
with glistening eyes, "I now offer you my love."

"Oh, madame!" exclaimed Fouquet.

"I have loved you for a long while past; women, like
men, have a false delicacy at times. For a long time past
I have loved you, but would not confess it. Well, then,
you have implored this love on your knees, and I have re-
fused you; I was blind, as you were a little while since; but
as it was my love that you sought, it is my love that I now
offer you."

"Oh, madame! you overwhelm me beneath the weight of
my happiness."

"Will you be happy, then, if I am yours — yours entirely?"

"It will be the supremest happiness for me,"

"Take me, then. If, however, for your sake I sacrifice a
prejudice, do you, for mine, sacrifice a scruple."

"Do not tempt me."

"Do not refuse me."

"Think seriously of what you are proposing."

"Fouquet, but one word. Let it be no, and I open this
door," and she pointed to the door whijsli led into the
street, "and you will never see me again. Let that word
be yes, and I am yours entirely."

"Elise! Elise! But this coffer?"

"It contains my dowry."

"It is your ruin," exclaimed Fouquet, turning over the
gold and papers; "there must be a million here."

"Yes, my jewels, for which I care no longer if you do
not love me, and for which, equally, I care no longer if you
love me as I love you."

"This is too much," exclaimed Fouquet. "I yield, I
yield, even were it only to consecrate so much devotion.
I accept the dowry."

"And take the woman with it," said the marquise,
throwing herself into his arms.

CHAPTEE XXIX.

LE TERRAIN DE DIEU.

DuRiisTG the progress of these events Buckingham and De
Wardes traveled in excellent companionship, and made the
journey from Paris to Calais in undisturbed harmony to-

204 TEN YEARS LATER.

gether. Buckingham had hurried his departure, so that
the best part of his adieus were very hastily made. His
visit to Monsieur and madame, to the young queen, and to
the queen-dowagei', had been paid collectively — a precaution
on the part of the queen-mother which saved him the dis-
tress of any private conversation with Monsieur, and saved
him also from the danger of seeing madame again. The
carriages containing the luggage had already been sent on
beforehand, and in the evening he set off in his traveling
carriage with his attendants.

De Wardes, irritated at finding himself dragged away in
so abrupt a manner by this Englishman, had sought in his
subtle mind for some means of escaping from his fetters;
but no one having rendered him any assistance in this
respect, he was absolutely obliged, therefore, to submit to
the burden of his own evil thoughts and of his own caustic
spirit.

Such of his friends in whom he had been able to confide
had, in their character of wits, rallied him upon the duke's
superiority. Others, less brilliant, but more sensible, had
reminded him of the king's orders which prohibited duel-
ing. Others, again, and they the larger number, who, from
Christian charity, or national vanity, might have rendered
him assistance, did not care to run the risk of incurring dis-
grace, and would, at the best, have informed the ministers
of a departure which might end in a massacre on a small
scale. The result was that, after having fully deliberated
upon the matter, De Wardes packed up his luggage, took a
couple of horses, and, followed only by one servant, made
his way toward the barrier, where Buckingham's carriage
was to await him.

The duke received his adversary as he would have done
an intimate acquaintance, made room beside him on the
same seat with himself, offered him refreshments, and
spread over his knees the sable cloak which had been thrown
on the front seat. They then conversed of the court, with-
out alluding to madame; of Monsieur, without speaking of
domestic affairs; of the king, without speaking of his
brother's wife; of the queen-mother, without alluding to
her daughter-in-law; of the King of England, without
alluding to his sister-in-law; of the state of the affections of
either of the travelers, without pronouncing any name that
might be dangerous. In this way the journey, which was
performed by short stages, was most agreeable, and Buck-
ingham, almost a Frenchman, from his wit and his educa-

TEN YEARS LATER. 205

tion, was delighted at having so admirably selected his
traveling companion. Elegant repasts were served, of
which they partook but lightly; trials of horses in the beau-
tiful meadows which skirted the road; coursing, for Buck-
ingham had his greyhounds with him; and in such and
other various ways did they pass away the time. The duke
somewhat resembled the beautiful river Seine, which in-
closes France a thousand times in its loving embraces, be-
fore deciding upon Joining its waters with the ocean. lu
quitting France, it was her recently adopted daughter he
had brought to Paris, whom he chiefly regretted; his every
thought was a remembrance of her, and consequently a
regret. Therefore, whenever, now and then, despite his
command over himself, he was lost in thought, De Wardes
'left him entirely to his musings. This delicacy might have
touched Buckingham, and changed his feelings toward De
Wardes, if the latter, while preserving silence, had shown a
glance less full of malice and a smile less false. Instinctive
dislikes, however, are relentless; nothing appeases them; a
few ashes may sometimes apparently distinguish them;
but beneath those ashes the smothered flames rage more
furiously. Having exhausted all the means of amusement
which the route offered, they arrived, as we have said, at
Calais, toward the end of the sixth day. The duke's at-
tendants had already, since the previous evening, been in
advance, and had chartered a boat for the purpose of join-
ing the yacht, which had been tacking about in sight, or
bore broadside on, whenever it felt its white wings wearied,
within two or three cannon-shots from the jetty.

The boat was destined for the transport of the duke's
equipages from -the shore to the yacht. The horses had
been embarked, having been hoisted from the boat upon
the deck in baskets, expressly made for the purpose, and
wadded in such a manner that their limbs, even in the most
violent fits of terror or impatience, were always protected
by the soft support which the sides afforded, and their coats
were not even turned. Eight of these baskets, placed side
by side, filled the ship's hold. It is well known that, in
short voyages, horses refuse to eat, but remain trembling
all the while, with the best of food before them, such as
they would have greatly coveted on land. By degrees the
duke's entire equipage was transported on board the yacht;
he was then informed that everything was in readiness, and
that they only waited for him, whenever he would be dis-
posed to embark with the French gentleman. For no one

206 TEK YEARS LATER.

could possibly imagine that the French gentleman would
have any other accounts to settle with his grace than those
of friendship. Buckingham desired the captain to be told
to hold himself in readiness, but that, as the sea was beau-
tiful, and as the day promised a splendid sunset, he did not
intend to go on board until nightfall, and would avail him-
self of the evening to enjoy a walk on the strand. He
added also that, finding himself in such excellent com-
pany, he had not the least desire to hasten his embarkation.

As he said this he pointed out to those who surrounded
him the magnificent siJectacle which the sky presented, of
a deep purple color in the horizon, and an amphitheater of
fleecy clouds ascending from the sun's disk to the zenith,
assuming the appearance of a range of mountains, whose
summits were heaped one upon another. The whole
amphitheater was tinged at its base by a kind of blood-like
foam, fading away into opal and pearl-like tints, in propor-
tion as the gaze was carried from the base to the summit.
The sea, too, was tinged with the same reflection, and upon
the crest of every azure wave danced a point of light, like
a ruby exposed to the reflection of a lamp. The mildness
of the evening, the sea breezes, so dear to contemplative
minds, a stiff breeze setting in from the east and blowing
in harmonious gusts; then, in the distance, the black out-
line of the yacht with its rigging traced upon the impurpled
background of the sky — while, dotting the horizon, might
be seen here and there vessels with their trimmed sails,
like the wings of a sea-gull about to plunge. The spectacle,
indeed, well merited admiration. A crowd of curious idlers
followed the richly dressed attendants, among whom they
mistook the intendant and the secretary for the master and
his friend. As for Buckingham, who dressed very simply,
in a gray satin vest, and doublet of violet-colored velvet,
wearing his hat thrust over his eyes, and without orders or
embroidery, he was taken no more notice of than De
Wardes, who was dressed in black like an attorney.

The duke's attendants had received directions to have a
boat in readiness at the jetty head, and to watch the em-
barkation of their master, without approaching him until
either he or his friend should summon them. "Whatever
may happen," he had added, laying a stress upon these
words, so that they might not be misunderstood. Having
walked a few paces upon the strand, Buckingham said to
De Wardes, "I think it is now time to take leave of each
other. The tide,"you perceive, is rising; ten minutes hence

TE]Sr YEAKS LA.TEK. 207

it will have soaked the sands where we are now walking in
such a manner that we shall not be able to keep our
footing."

"1 await your orders, my lord; but "

•'But, you mean, we are still upon soil which is part of
the king's territory."

"Exactly."

"Well, do you see yonder a kind of little island sur-
rounded by a circular pool of water? the pool is increasing
every minute, and the isle is gradually disappearing. This
island, indeed, belongs to Heaven, for it is situated between
two seas, and is not shown on the king's maps. Do you
observe it?"

"Yes; but we can hardly reach it now without getting
our feet wet."

"Yes; but observe that it forms an eminence tolerably
high, and that the tide rises on every side, leaving the top
free. We shall be admirably placed upon that little theater.
What do you think of it?"

"I shall be perfectly happy wherever I may have the
honor of crossing my sword with your lordship's."

"Very well, then; I am distressed to be the cause of
your wetting your feet. Monsieur de Wardes, but it is most
essential you should be able to say to the king, 'Sire, I did
not fight upon your majesty's territory.' Perhaps the dis-
tinction is somewhat subtle, but since Port Royal you
abound in subleties of expression. Do not let us complain
of this, however, for it makes your wit very brilliant, and
of a style peculiarly your own. If you do not object we
will hurry ourselves, for the sea, I perceive, is rising fast,
and night is setting in."

"My reason for not walking faster was, that I did not
wish to precede your grace. Are you still on dry land, my
lord?"

"Yes, at present I am. Look yonder; my servants are
afraid we should be drowned, and have converted the boat
into a cruiser. Do you remark how curiously it dances
upon the crests of the waves? But as it makes me feel
seasick, would you permit me to turn my back toward
them?"

"You will observe, my lord, that in turning your back
to them you will have the sun full in your face."

"Oh, its rays are very feeble at this hour, and it will soon
disappear; do not be uneasy at that."

"As you please, my lord; it was out of consideration for
your lordship that I made the remark."

208 TEN" YEARS LATER.

"I am aware of that, Monsieur de Wardes, and I fully
appreciate your kindness. Shall we take off our doublets?"

"As you please, my lord."

"Do not hesitate to tell me, Monsieur de "Wardes, if you
do not feel comfortable upon the wet sand, or if you think
yourself a little too close to the French territory. We
could fight in England, or else upon my yacht."

"We are exceedingly well placed here, my lord; only I
have the honor to remark that, as the sea is rising fast, we
have hardly time "

Buckingham made a sign of assent, took off his doublet
and threw it on the ground, a proceeding which De Wardes
imitated. Both their bodies, which seemed like two phan-
toms to those who were looking at them from the shore,
were thrown strongly into relief by a dark-red violet-colored
shadow with which the sky became overspread.

"Upon my word, your grace," said De Wardes, "we shall
hardly have time to begin. Do you not perceive how our
feet are sinking in the sand?"

"I have sunk up to the ankles," said Buckingham,
"without reckoning that the Avater is even now breaking in
upon us."

"It has already reached me. As soon as you please,
therefore, your grace," said De AVardes, who drew his
sword, a movement imitated by the duke.

"Monsieur de Wardes," said Buckingham, "one final
word. I am about to fight you because I do not like you —
because you have wounded me in ridiculing a certain devo-
tional regard I have entertained, and one which I acknowl-
edge that, at this moment, I still retain, and for which I
would willingly die. You are a bad and heartless man.
Monsieur de Wardes, and I will do my utmost to take your
life; for I feel assured that, if you survive this engagement,
you will in the future- work great mischief toward my friends.
That is all I have to remark, Monsieur de Wardes," con-
tinued Buckingham, as he saluted him.

"And I, my lord, have only this to reply to you: I have
not disliked you hitherto, but since you have divined my
character, I hate you, and will do all I possibly can to kill
you;" and De Wardes saluted Buckingham.

They crossed swords at the same moment, like two flashes
of lightning in a dark night. The swords seemed to seek
each other, guessed their position, and met. Both were
practiced swordsmen, and the earlier passes were without
any result. The night was fast closing in, and it was so

TEN YEARS LATER. 309

dark that they attacked and defended themselves almost
instinctively. Suddenly De Wardes felt his sword arrested,
he had just touched Buckingham's shoulder. The duke's
sword sank, as his arm was lowered.

*'You are touched, my lord," said De Wardes, drawing
back a step or two.

"Yes, monsieur, but only slightly."

"Yet you quitted your guard."

"Only from the first effect of the cold steel; but I have
recovered."

"Let us go on, if your please." And disengaging his
sword with a sinister clashing of the blade, the duke
wounded the marquis in the breast.

"Touched also," he said.

"No," said De Wardes, not moving from his place.

"I beg your pardon, but, observing that your shirt was
stained — " said Buckingham.

"Well," said De Wardes furiously, "it is now your turn."

And, with a terrible lunge, he pierced Buckingham's arm
through, the sword passing between the two bones. Buck-
ingham feeling his right arm paralyzed, stretched out his
left arm, seized his sword, which was about falling from his
nerveless grasp, and before De Wardes could resume his
guard he thrust him through the breast. De Wardes tot-
tered, his knees gave way beneath him, and leaving his
sword still fixed in the duke's arm, he fell into the water,
which was soon crimsoned with a more genuine reflection
than that which it had assumed from the clouds. De
Wardes was not dead; he felt the terrible danger which
menaced him, for the sea rose fast. The duke, too, per-
ceived the danger also. With an elfort, and an exclamation
of pain, he tore out the blade which remained in his arm,
and turning toward De Wardes, said, "Are you dead,
marquis?"

"No," replied De Wardes, in a voice choked by the blood
which rushed from his lungs to his throat, "but very near
it."

"Well, what is to be done; can you walk?" said Bucking-
ham, supporting him on his knee.

"Impossible," he replied. Then falling down again,
said, "Call to your people, or I shall be drowned."

"Halloo! boat there! quick! quick!"

The boat flew over the waves, but the sea rose faster than
the boat could approach. Buckingham saw that De Wardes
was on the point of being again covered by a wave; he

210 TEN YEAES LATER.

passed his left arm, safe and imwoimded, round his body,
and raised him up. The wave ascended to his middle, but
could not move him. The duke immediately began to walk
toward the shore. He had hardly gone ten paces, when a
second wave, rushing onward higher, more furious, more
menacing than the former, struck him at the height of his
chest, threw him over, and buried him beneath the water.
At tlie reflux, however, the duke and De Wardes were dis-
covered lying on the strand. De Wardes had fainted. At
this moment four of the duke's sailors, who comprehended
the danger, threw themselves into the sea, and in a moment
were close beside him. Their terror was extreme when they
observed how their master became covered with blood, in
proportion as the water, with which it was imj)regnated,
flowed toward his knees and feet; they wish to carry him
away.

"No, no," exclaimed the duke; "take the marquis on
shore first."

"Death to the Frenchman!" cried the English sullenly.

"Wretched knaves!" exclaimed the duke, drawing him-
self up with a haughty gesture, which sprinkled them with
blood; "obey directly! Monsieur de Wardes on shore!
Monsieur de Wardes' safety to be looked to first, or I will
have you all hanged."

The boat had by this time reached them; the secretary
and intendant leaped into the sea, and approached the mar-
quis, who no longer showed any sign of life.

"I commit him to your care, as you value your lives,"
said the duke. "Take Monsieur de W^ardes on shore."
They took him in their arms, and carried him to the dry
sand, where the tide never rose so high. A few idlers and
five or six fishermen had gathered on the shore, attracted
by the strange spectacle of two men fighting with the water
up to their knees. The fishermen, observing a grouj) of
men approaching, carrying a wounded man, entered the
sea until the water was up to the middle of their bodies.
The English transferred the wounded man to them, at the
very moment the latter began to open his eyes again. ' The salt
water and the fine sand had got into his wounds, and caused
him the acutest pain. The duke's secretary drew out a
purse filled with gold from his pocket, and handed it to the
one among those present who appeared of most importance,
saying: "From my master. His Grace the Duke of Buck-
ingham, in order that every conceivable care may be taken
of the Marquis de Wardes."

TEN" YEARS LATER. 211

Then, followed by those who had accompanied him, he
returned to the boat, which Buckingham had been enabled
to reach with the greatest difficulty, but only after he had
seen De Wardes out of danger. By this time it was high
tide; the embroidered coats and silk sashes were lost; many
hats, too, had been carried away by the waves. The flow of
the tide had borne the duke's and De Wardes' clothes to
the shore, and De Wardes was wrapped in the duke's
doublet, under the belief that it was his own, and they car-
ried him in their arms toward the town.

CHAPTER XXX.

THREEFOLD LOVE.

As soon as Buckingham had gone De Guiche imagined
that the coast would be perfectly clear for him without any
interference. Monsieur, who no longer retained the slight-
est feeling of jealousy, and who, besides, permitted himself
to be monopolized by the Chevalier de Lorraine, allowed as
much liberty and freedom in his house as the most exact-
ing person could desire. The king, on his side, who had
conceived a strong predilection for madame's society, in-
vented a variety of amusements, in quick succession to one
another, in order to render her residence in Paris as cheer-
ful as possible, so that, in fact, not a day passed without a
ball at the Palais Royal or a reception in Monsieur's apart-
ments. The king had directed that Fontainebleau should
be prepared for the reception of the court, and every one
was using his utmost interest to get invited. Madame
led a life of incessant occupation; neither her voice nor her
pen was idle for a moment. The conversations with De
Guiche were gradually assuming a tone of interest which
might unmistakably be recognized as the preludes of a deep-
seated attachment. When eyes look languishingly while
the subject under discussion happens to be colors of material
for dresses; when a whole hour is occupied in analyzing the
merits and the perfume of a sachet or a flower, there are
words in this style of conversation which every one might
listen to, but there are gestures and sighs which every one
cannot perceive. After madame had talked for some time
with De Guiche she conversed with the king, who paid her
a visit regularly every day. They played, wrote verses, or
selected mottoes or emblematical devices; the spring was

212 TEN TEARS LATER.

not only the spring-time of seasons, it was the youth of au
entire people, of which those at court were the head. The
king was handsome, young, and of unequaled gallantry.
All women were passionately loved by him, even the queen,
his wife. This great king was, however, more timid and
more reserved than any other person in the kingdom, to
such a degree, indeed, that he had not confessed his senti-
ments even to himself. This timidity of bearing restrained
him within the limits of ordinary politeness, and no woman
could boast of having any preference shown her beyond that
shown to others. It might be foretold that the day when
his real character would be displayed would be the dawn
of a new sovereignty; but as yet he had not declared him-
self. M. de Guiche took advantage of this, and constituted
himself the sovereign prince of the whole amorous court.
It had been reported that he v/as on the best of terms with
Mile, de Montalais; that he had been assiduously attentive to
Mile, de Chatillon; but now he was not even barely civil to
any of the court beauties. He had eyes and ears but for one
person alone. In this manner, and, as it were, without de-
sign, he devoted himself to Monsieur, who had a great re-
gard for him, and kept him as much as possible in his own
apartments. Unsociable from natural disposition, he es-
tranged himself too much previous to the arrival of ma-
dame, but after her arrival he did not estrange himself
sufficiently. This conduct, which every one had observed,
had been particularly remarked by the evil genius of the
house, the Chevalier de Lorraine, for whom Monsieur ex-
hibited the warmest attachment, because he was of a very
cheerful disposition, even in his remarks most full of malice,
and because he was never at a loss how to make the time
pass away. The Chevalier de Lorraine, therefore, having
noticed that he was threatened with being supplanted by
De Guiche, resorted to strong measures. He disappeared
from the court, leaving Monsieur much embarrassed. The
first day of his disappearance Monsieur hardly inquired
about him, for he had De Guiche with him, and, except the
time devoted to conversation with madame, his days and
nights were rigorously devoted to the prince. On the
second day, however. Monsieur, finding no one near him,
inquired where the chevalier was. He was told that no one
knew.

De Guiche, after having spent the morning in selecting
embroideries and fringes with madame, went to console the
prince. But after dinner, as there were tulips and ame-

TEN YEARS LATER. 213

thysts to look at, De Guiche returned to madame's cabinet.
Monsieur was left quite to himself during all the time he
devoted to dressing and decorating himself; he felt that he
was the most miserable of men, and again inquired whether
there w&s any news of the chevalier, in reply to which he
was told that no one knew where the chevalier was to be
found. Monsieur, hardly knowing in what direction to
inflict his weariness, went to madame's apartments dressed
in his morning-gown. He found a large assemblage of
people there, laughing and Avhispering in every part of the
room; at one end, a group of women around one of the
courtiers talking together amid smothered bursts of laugh-
ter; at the other end, Manicamp and Malicorne were being
pillaged by Montalais and Mile, de Tonnay-Charente, while
two others were standing by, laughing. In another part
were madame, seated upon some cushions on the floor, and
De Guiche, on his knees beside her, spreading out a hand-
ful of pearls and precious stones, while the princess, with
her white and slender finger, pointed out such among them
as pleased her the most. Again, in another corner of the
room, a guitar-player was playing some of the Spanish
sequedillas, to which madame had taken the greatest fancy
ever since she had heard them sung by the young queen
with a melancholy expression of voice. But the songs
which the Spanish princess had sung with tears in her eyes
the young English woman was humming with a smile which
displayed her beautiful pearl-like teeth. The cabinet pre-
sented, in fact, the most perfect representation of unre-
strained pleasure and amusement. As he entered Monsieur
was struck at beholding so many persons enjoying them-
selves without him. He was so jealous at the sight that he
could not resist saying, like a child, "What! you are amus-
ing yourselves here, while I am sick and tired of being
alone!"

The sound of his voice was like a clap of thunder which
interrupts the warbling of birds under the leafy covert of
the trees. A dead silence ensued. De Guiche was on his
feet in a moment. Malicorne tried to hide himself behind
Montalais' dress. Manicamp stood bolt upright, and as-
sumed a very ceremonious demeanor. The guitar-player
thrust his guitar under a table, covering it with a piece of
carpet to conceal it from the prince's observation. Madame
was the only one who did not move, and. smiling at her
husband, said, "Is not this the Jaour you usually devote to
your toilet?"

214 TEN YEAKS LATEE.

"An hour which others select, it seems, for amusing
themselves," replied the prince gnimblingly.

This untoward remark was the signal for a general rout;
the women fled like a flight of terrified birds, the guitar-
player vanished like a shadow, Malicorne, stilL protected by
Montalais, who purposely widened out her dress, glided be-
hind the hanging tapestry. As for Manicamp, he went to
the asssistance of De Guiche, who naturally remained near
madame, and both of them, with the princess herself,
courageously sustained the attack. The comte was too
happy to bear malice against the husband; but Monsieur
bore a grudge against his wife. Nothing was wanting but
a quarrel; he sought it, and the hurried departure of the
crowd, which had been so joyous before he arrived, and was
so disturbed by his entrance, furnished him with a pretext.

"Why do they run away at the sight of me?" he inquired, in
a supercilious tone; to which remark madame replied, "That,
whenever the master of the house made his appearance, the
family kept aloof out of respect." As she said this she
made so funny and so pretty a grimace that De Guiche and
Manicamp could not control themselves; they burst into a
peal of laughter; madame followed their example, and even
Monsieur himself could not resist it, and he was obliged to
sit down, as for laughing he could scarcely keep his equilib-
rium. However, he very soon left off, but his anger had
increased. He was still more furious from having
allowed himself to laugh than from having seen others
laugh. He looked at Manicamp steadily, not venturing to
show his anger toward De Guiche; but, at a sign which dis-
played no little amount of annoyance, Manicamp and De
Guiche left the room, so that madame, left alone, began
sadly to pick up her pearls, no longer laughing, and speak-
ing still less.

"I am very happy," said the duke, "to find myself treated
as a stranger here, madame;" and he left the room in a
passion. On his way out he met Montalais, who was in
attendance in the anteroom. "It is very agreeable to pay
you a visit here, but outside the door."

Montalais made a very low obeisance. "I do not quite
understand what your royal highness does me the honor to
say."

"I say that when you are all laughing together in ma-
dame's apartment, he is an unwelcome visitor who does not
remain outside."

"Your royal highness does not think, and does not speak
so, of yourself."

TEN YEAKS LATER. 215

"On the contrary,, it is on my own account that I do siDcak
and think. I have no reason, certainly, to flatter myself
about the receptions I meet with here at any time. How is
it that, on the very day there is music and a little society
in' madame's apartments — in my own apartments, indeed,
for they are mine — on the very day that I wish to amuse
myself a little in my turn, every one runs away? Are they
afraid to see me, that they all took to flight as soon as I ap-
peared? Is there anything wrong, then, going on in my
absence?"

"Yet nothing has been done to-day, monseigneur, which
is not done every day."

"What! do they laugh like that every day?"

"Why, yes, monseigneur."

"The same group of people and the same scraping going
on every day?"

"The guitar, monseigneur, was introduced to-day; but
when we have no guitars, we have violins and flutes; women
get wearied without music."

"The deuce! and the men?"

"Wliat men, monseigneur?"

"Monsieur de Guiche, Monsieur de Manicamp, and the
others."

"They all belong to your highness' household."

"Yes, yes, you're right," said the prince, as he returned
to his own apartments, full of thought. He threw himself
into the largest of his armchairs, without looking at him-
self in the glass. "Where can the chevalier be?" said he.
One of the prince's attendants happened to be near him,
overheard his remark, and replied:

"No one knows, your highness."

"Still the same answer. The first one who answers me
again, 'I do not know,' I will discharge." Every one at
this remark hurried out of his apartments, in the same
manner as the others had fled from madame's apartments.
The prince then flew into the wildest rage. He kicked over
a chiffonier, which tumbled on the carpet, broken into
pieces. He next went into the galleries, and with the
greatest coolness threw down, one after another, an enameled
vase, a porphyry ewer, and a bronze chandelier. The
noise summoned every one to the various doors.

"What is your highness' pleasure?" said the captain of
the guards timidly.

"I am treating myself to some music," replied the prince,
gnashing his teeth.

21G TEN YEARS LATER.

The captain of the guards desired his royal highness'
physician to be sent for. But before he came Malicorne
arrived, saying to the prince, "Monseigneur, the Cheva-
lier de Lorraine is here."

The duke looked at Malicorne, and smiled graciously at
him, just as the chevalier entered in fact.

CHAPTEE XXXI.

M. DE LORRAINE'S JEALOUSY.

The Due d'Orleans uttered a cry of delight on perceiv
ing the Chevalier de Lorraine. "This is fortunate, indeed,"
he said. "By what happy chance do I see you? Had you
indeed disappeared, as every one assured me?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Some caprice?"

"I to venture upon caprices with your highness! The
respect "

"Put respect out of the way, for you fail in it every day.
I absolve you; but why did you leave me?"

"Because I felt that I was of no use to you."

"Explain yourself."

"Your highness has people about you who are far more
amusing than I can ever be. I felt that I was not strong
enough to enter into a contest with them, and I therefore
withdrew."

"This extreme diffidence shows a want of common sense.
Who are those with whom you cannet contend? De
Guiche?"

"I name no one."

"This is absurd. Does De Guiche annoy you?"

"I do not say he does; do not force me to speak, how-
ever; you know very well that De Guiche is one of our best
friends."

"Who is it, then?"

"Excuse me, monseigneur, let- us say no more about it."
The chevalier knew perfectly well that curiosity is excited
in the same way as thirst — by removing what quenches it;
or, in others words, by delaying the explanation.

"No, no," said the prince, "I wish to know why you
went away."

"In that case, monseigneur, I will tell you; but do not
be angry. I remarked that my presence was disagreeable."

TEN YEARS LATER. 217

"To whom?"

"To madame."

"What do you mean?" said the duke, in astonishment.

"It is simple enough: madame is very probably jealous of
the regard you are good enough to testify for me."

"Has she shown it to you?"

"Madame never addresses a syllable to me, particularly
since a certain time."

"Since what time?"

"Since the time when. Monsieur de Guiche having made
himself more agreeable to her than I could, she receives
him at every and any hour."

The duke colored. "At any hour, chevalier; what do
you mean by that?"

"You see, your highness, I have already displeased you;
I was quite sure I should."

"I am not displeased; but you say things a little strong.
In what respect does madame prefer De Guiche to you?"

"I shall say no more," said the chevalier, saluting the
prince ceremoniously.

"On the contrary, I require you to speak. If you v^'ith-
draw on that account you must indeed be very jealous."

"One cannot help being jealous, monseigneur, when one
loves. Is not your royal highness jealous of madame?
Would not your royal highness if you saw some one always
near madame and always treated with great favor take
umbrage at it? One's friends are as one's lovers. Your
royal highness has sometimes conferred the distinguished
honor upon me of calling me your friend."

"Yes, yes; but you used a phrase which has a very equivo-
cal signification; you are unfortunate in your remarks."

"What phrase, monseigneur?"

"You said, 'treated with great favor.' What do you
mean by favor?"

"Nothing can be more simple," said the chevalier with an
expression of great frankness; "for instance, whenever a
husband remarks that his wife summons such and such a
man near her — whenever this man is always to be found by
her side or in attendance at the door of her carriage; when-
ever the bouquet of the one is always the same color as the
ribbons of the other — when music and supper-parties are
held in the private apartments — whenever a dead silence takes
place immediately the husband makes his appearance in his
wife's rooms — and when the husband suddenly finds that
he has as a companion the most devoted and kindest of men,
DuiiAS— Vol. XY. - la

218 TEN YEARS LATER.

who a week before was with him as little as possible; why,
then "

"Well, finish."

"Why, then, I say, monseigneur, one possibly may get
jealous. But all these details hardly apply; for our conver-
sation had nothing to do with them."

The duke was evidently much agitated, and seemed to
struggle within himself a good deal. "You have not told
me," he then remarked, "why you absented yourself. A
little while ago you said it was from a fear of intruding;
you added even that you had observed a disposition on
madame's part to encourage De Guiche."

"Pardon me, monseigneur, I did not say that."

"You did, indeed."

"Well, if I did say so I noticed nothing but what was very
inoffensive."

"At all events, you remarked something."

"You embarrass me, monseigneur."

"What does that matter? Answer me. If you speak
the truth why should you feel embarrassed?"

"I always speak the truth, monseigneur; but I also always
hesitate when it is a question of repeating what others say."

"Ah! ah! you repeat? It appears that it is talked about,
then?"

"I acknowledge that others have spoken to me on the
subject."

"Who?" said the prince.

The chevalier assumed almost an angry air as he replied,
"Monseigneur, you are subjecting me to the question; you
treat me as a criminal at the bar; and the rumors which
idly pass by a gentleman's ears do not remain there. Your
highness wishes me to magnify the rumor until it attains
the importance of an event."

"However," sad the duke in great displeasure, "the fact
remains that you withdraw on account of this report."

"To speak the truth, others have talked to me of the at-
tentions of Monsieur de Guiche to madame, nothing more;
perfectly harmless, I repeat, and more than that, permissible.
But do not be unjust, monseigneur, and do not attach an
undue importance to it. It does not concern you."

"Monsieur de Guiche's attentions to madame do not con-
cern me?"

"No monseigneur; and what I say to you I would say to
De Guiche himself, so little do I think of the attentions he
pays madame. Nay, I would say it even to madame herself.

TEN YEARS LATER. 219

Only you understand what I am afraid of — I am afraid of
being thought jealous of the favor shown, when I am, only
jealous as far as friendship is concerned. I know your dis-
position; I know that when you bestow your affections you
become exclusively attached. You love madame — and who,
indeed, would not love her? Follow me attentively as I
proceed: Madame has noticed among your friends the hand-
somest and most fascinating of them all; she will begin to
influence you on his behalf, in such a way that you will
neglect the others. Your indifference would kill me; it is
already bad enough to have to support madame's indiffer-
ence. I have, therefore, made up my mind to give way to
the favorite whose happiness I envy even while I acknowl-
edge my sincere friendship and sincere admiration for him.
Well, monseigneur, do you see anything to object to in this
reasoning? Is it not that of a m.an of honor? Is my conduct
that of a sincere friend? Answer me, at least, after having
so closely questioned me."

The duke had seated himself, with his head buried in his
hands. After a silence long enough to enable the cheva-
lier to judge of the effect of his oratorical display, the duke
rose, saying, "Come, be candid."

"As I always am."

"Very well. You know that we already observed some-
thing respecting that mad fellow, Buckingham."

"Do not say anything against madame, monseigneur, or
I shall take my leave. It is impossible you can be suspicious
of madame?"

"No, no, chevalier; I do not suspect madame; but, in
fact, I observe — I compare "

"Buckingham was a madman, monseigneur."

"A madman about whom, however, you opened my eyes
thoroughly."

"No, no," said the chevalier quickly; "it was not I who
opened your eyes. It was De Guiche. Do not confound
us, I beg." And he began to laugh in so harsh a manner
that it sounded like the hiss of a serpent.

"Yes, yes; I remember. You said a few words, but De
Guiche showed the most jealousy."

"I should think so," continued the chevalier, in the
same tone. "He was fighting for home and altar."

"What did you say?" said the duke haughtily, thor-
ouglily roused by this insidious jest.

"Am I not right? for does not Monsieur de Guiche hold
the chief post of honor in your household?"

230 TEN" YEAKS LATER.

''Well/' replied the duke, somewhat calmed, *'had this
passion of Buckingham been remarked?"

"Certainly."

"Very well. Do people say that Monsieur de Guiche's is
remarked as much?"

"Pardon me, monseigneur; you are again mistaken; no
one says that Monsieur de Guiche entertains anything of
the sort."

"Very good."

"You see, monseigneur, that it would have been better,
a hundred times better, to have left me in my retirement,
than to have allowed you to conjure up, by the aid of any
scruples I may have had, suspicions which madame will
regard as crimes, and she will be right, too."

"What would you do?"

"Act reasonably."

"In what way?"

"I should not pay the slightest attention to the society
of these new Epicurean philosophers; and, in that way, the
rumors will cease."

"Well, I shall see; I shall think over it."

"Oh, you have time enough; the danger is not great;
and then, besides, it is not a question either of danger or of
passion. It all arose from a fear I had to see your friend-
ship for me decrease. From the very moment you restore
it me, with so kind an assurance of its existence, I have no
longer any other idea in my head."

"The duke shook his head, as if he meant to say: "If
you have no more ideas, I have though." It being now the
dinner-hour, the prince sent to inform madame of it, who
returned a message to the effect that. she could not be
present, but would dine in her own apartment.

"That is not my fault," said the duke. "This morning,
having taken them by surprise, in the midst of a musical
party, I got jealous; and so they are in the sulks with me."

"We will dine alone," said the chevalier, with a sigh; "I
regret De Guiche is not here."

"Oh! De Guiche will not remain long in the sulks; he is
a very good-natured fellow."

"Monseigneur," said the chevalier suddenly, "an excel-
lent idea has struck me, in our conversation just now. I
may have exasperated your highness, and caused you some
dissatisfaction. It is but fitting that I should be the medi-
ator. I will go and look for the comte, and bring him back
with me."

TEN TEARS LATER. 321

"Ah! chevalier, you ^.re really a very good-natured
fellow."

"You say that as if you were surprised."

"T^^ell, you are not so tender-hearted every day."

"Tnat may be; but confess that I know how to repair a
wrong I may have done."

"I confess that."

"Will your highness do me the favor to wait here a few
minutes?"

"Willingly; be off, and I will try on my Fontainebleau
costume."

The chevalier left the room, called his different attendants
with the greatest care, as if he were giving them different
orders. All went off' in various directions; but he retained
his valet de chamhre. "Ascertain, and immediately, too,
if Monsieur de Guiche is not in madame's apartments.
How can one learn it?"

"Very easily, monsieur. I will ask Malicorne, who
will learn it from Mademoiselle de Montalais. I may as
well tell you, however, that the inquiry will be useless; for
all Monsieur de Guiche's attendants are gone, and he must
have left with them."

"Try and learn, nevertheless."

Ten minutes had hardly passed, when the valet returned.
He beckoned his master mysteriously toward the servants'
staircase, and showed him into a small room with a window
looking out upon the garden. "What is the matter?" said
the chevalier; "why so many precautions?"

"Look, monsieur," said the valet, "look yonder, under
the walnut-tree."

"Ah!" said the chevalier. "I see Manicamp there.
What is he waiting for?"

"You will see in a moment, monsieur, if you wait
patiently. There, do you see now?"

"I see one, two, four musicians, with their instruments,
and behind them, urging them on, De Guiche himself.
What is he doing there, though?"

"He is waiting until the little door of the staircase, be-
longing to the ladies of honor, is opened; by that staircase
he will ascend to madame's apartments, where some new
pieces of music are going to be performed during dinner."

"That is admirable which you tell me."

"Is it not, monsieur?"

"Was it Monsieur de Malicorne who told you this?'*

"Yes, monsieur."

223 TEN TEARS LATER.

"He likes you, then?"

"No, monsieur, it is Monsieur whom he likes."

"Why?"

"Because he wishes to belong to his household."

"And most certainly he shall. How much did he give
you for that?"

"The secret which I now dispose of to you, monsieur?"

"And which I buy for a hundred pistoles. Take them."

"Thank you, monsieur. Look, look! the little door
opens, a woman admits the musicians."

"It is Montalais."

"Hush, monseigneur; do not call out her name; whoever
says Montalais says Malicorne. If you quarrel with the
one, you will be on bad terms with the other."

"Very well; I have seen nothing."

"And I," said the valet, pocketing the purse, "have re-
ceived nothing."

The chevalier, being now certain that Guichehad entered,
returned to the prince, whom he found splendidly dressed
and radiant with joy, as with good looks. "I am told," he
exclaimed, "that the king has taken the sun as his device;
really, monseigneur, it is you whom this device would best
suit."

"Where is De Guichc?"

"He cannot be found. He has fled — has evaporated en-
tirely. Your scolding of this morning terrified him. He
could not be found in his apartments."

"Bah! the hare-brained fellow is capable of setting off
post-haste to his own estates. Poor fellow! we will recall
him. Come, let us dine now."

"Monseigneur, to-day is a day of ideas; I have another."

"What is it?"

"Madame is angry with you, and she has reason to be so.
You owe her her revenge; go and dine with her."

"Oh! that would be acting like a weak husband."

"It is the duty of a good husband to do so. The princess
is no doubt wearied enough; she Avill be weeping in her
plate, and her eyes will get quite red. A husband who is
the cause of his Avife's eyes getting red is an odious crea-
ture. Come, monseigneur, come."

"I cannot; for I have directed dinner to be served here."

"Yet see, monseigneur, how dull we shall be; I shall be
low-spirited because I know that madame will be alone;
you, hard and savage as you wish to appear, will be sighing
all the while. Take me with you to madame's dinner, and

TEN YEARS LATER. 223

that will be a delightful surprise. I am sure we shall be
very merry; you were wrong this morning."
"Well, perhaps I was."

"There is no perhaps at all, for it is a fact you were so."
"Chevalier, chevalier, your advice is not good."
"Nay, my advice is good; all the advantages are on your
own side. Your violet-colored suit, embroidered with gold,
becomes you admirably. Madame will be as much van-
quished by the man as by the step. Come, monseigneur."
"You decide me; let us go."

The duke left his room, accompanied by the chevalier,
and went toward madame's apartments. The chevalier
hastily whispered to his valet, "Be sure that there are some
people before the little door, so that no one can escape in
that direction. Eun, run!" And he followed the duke
toward the antechambers of madame's suite of apartments,
and when the ushers were about to announce them, the
chevalier said, laughing, "His highness wishes to surprise
madame."

CHAPTEK XXXII.

MONSIEUR IS JEALOUS OF DE GUICHE.

Monsieur entered the room abruptly, as those persons
do who mean well and think they confer pleasure, or as
those who hojse to surprise some secret, the melancholy re-
ward of jealous people. Madame, almost out of her senses
at the first bars of music, Avas dancing in the most unre-
strained manner, leaving the dinner, which had been already
begun, unfinished. Her partner was M. de Guiche, who,
with his arms raised, and his eyes half-closed, was kneeling .
on one knee, like the Spanish dancers, with looks full of
passion, and gestures of the most caressing character. The
princess was dancing round him with a responsive smile,
and the same air of alluring seductiveness. Montalais
stood by admiringly; La Valliere, seated in a corner of the
room, looked on thoughtfully. It is impossible to describe
the effect which the presence of the prince produced upon
this happy company, and it would be just as impossible to
describe the effect which the sight of their happiness pro-
duced upon Philip. The Comte de Guiche had no power
to move; madame remained in the middle of one of the
figures and of an attitude, unable to utter a word. The

224 TEK YEARS LATER.

Chevalier de Lorraine, leaning his back against the door-
way, smiled like a man in the very height of the frankest
admiration. The pallor of the prince, and the convulsive
trembling of his hands and limbs, were the first symptoms
that struck those present. A dead silence succeeded the
sound of the dance. The Chevalier de Lorraine took ad-
vantage of this interval to salute madame and De Guiche
most respectfully, affecting to join them together in his
reverences as though they were the master and mistress of
the house. Monsieur then approached them, saying, in a
hoarse tone of voice, "I am delighted; I came here expect-
ing to find you ill and low-spirited; and I find you abandon-
ing yourself to new amusements; really, it is most for-
tunate. My house is the merriest in the whole kingdom."
Then turning toward De Guiche, "Comte," he said, "I did
not know you were so good a dancer," And, again address-
ing his wife, he said, "Show a little more consideration for
me, madame; whenever you intend to amuse yourselves
here, invite me. I am a prince, unfortunately, very much
neglected."

De Guiche had now recovered his self-possession, and
with the spirited boldness which was natural to him, and
which so well became him, he said, "Your highness knov/s
very well that my very life is at your service, and whenever
there is a question of its being needed, I am ready; but to-
day, as it is only a question of dancing to music, I dance."

"And you are perfectly right," said the prince coldly.

"But, madame," he continued, "you do not remark that
your ladies deprive me of my friends; Monsieur de Guiche
does not belong to you, madame, but to me. If you wish
to dine without me, you have your ladies. When I dine
alone I have my gentlemen; do not strip me of everything."

Madame felt the reproach and the lesson, and the color
rushed to her face. "Monsieur," she replied, "I was not
aware, when I came to the court of France, that princesses
of my rank were to be regarded as the women in Turkey
are. I was not aware that we were not allowed to be seen;
but since such is your desire, I will conform myself to it;
pray do not hesitate, if you should wish it, to have my win-
dows barred, even."

This repartee, which made Montalais and De Guiche
smile, rekindled the prince's anger, no inconsiderable por-
tion of which had already evaporated in words.

"Very well," he said, in a concentrated tone of voice,
**this is the way in which I am respected in my own house."

TEN YEARS LATER. 235

"Monseigneur, monseigneur," murmured the chevalier
in the duke's ear in such a manner that every one could
observe he was endeavoring to calm him.

"Come," replied the prince, as his only answer to the
remark, hurrying him av/ay, and turning round with so
hasty a movement that he almost ran against madame.
The chevalier followed him to his own apartment, where
the prince had no sooner seated himself than he gave free
rein to his fury. The chevalier raised his eyes toward the
ceiling, joining his hands together, and said not a word.

"Give me your opinion," exclaimed the prince.

"Upon what?"

"Upon what is taking place here."

"Oh, monseigneur! it is a very serious matter."

"It is abominablel I cannot live in this manner."

"HoAV unhappy all this is," said the chevalier. "We
hoped to enjoy tranquillity after that madman, Bucking-
ham had left."

"And this is worse."

"I do not say that, monseigneur."

"Yes, but I say it, for Buckingham would never have
ventured upon a fourth part of what we have just now
seen."

"What do you mean?"

"To conceal one's self for the purpose of dancing, and to
feign indisposition in order to dine tete-a-tete."

"No, no, monseigneur!"

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the prince, exciting himself like a
self-willed child; "but I will not endure it any longer; I
must learn what is really going on."

"Oh, monseigneur, an exposure "

"By Heaven! monsieur, am I to put myself out of the
way when people show so little consideration for me? Wait
for vaQ here, chevalier, wait for me here." The prince dis-
appeared in the neighboring apartment, and inquired of the
gentlemen in attendance if the queen-mother had returned
from the chapel. Anne of Austria felt that her happiness
was now complete; peace restored to her family, a nation
delighted Avith the presence of a young monarch, who had
shown an aptitude for affairs of great importance; the
revenues of the state increased; external peace assured;
everything seemed to promise a tranquil future for her.
Her thoughts recurred, now and then, to that poor young
man whom she had received as a mother, and had driven
away as a liard-hearted stepmother, and she sighed as she
thought of him.

226 TEN TEARS LATER.

Suddenly the Due d'Orleans entered her room. "Dear
mother," he exclaimed hurriedly, closing the door, "things
cannot go on as they now are."

Anne of Austria raised her beautiful eyes toward him, and
with an unmoved gentleness of manner said: "What things
do you allude to?"

"I wish to speak of madame."

"Your wife?"

"Yes, madame."

"I suppose that silly fellow Buckingham has been writ-
ing a farewell letter to her."

"Oh! yes, madame; of course, it is a question of Buck-
ingham."

"Of whom else could it be, then? for that poor fellow
was, wrongly enough, the object of your jealousy, and I
thought "

"My wife, madame, has already replaced the Duke of
Buckingham."

"Philip, what are you saying? You are speaking very
heedlessly."

"No, no. Madame has so managed matters that I am
still jealous."

"Of whom, in Heaven's name?"

"Is it possible you have not remarked it? Have you not
noticed that Monsieur de Guiche is always in her apart-
ments— always with her?"

The queen clapped her hands together, and began to
laugh. "Philip," she said, "your jealousy is not' merely a
defect, it is a positive disease."

"Whether a defect or a disease, madame, I am the suf-
ferer from it."

"And do you imagine that a complaint which exists only
in your own imagination can be cured? You wish it to be
said you are right in being jealous, when there is no ground
whatever for your jealousy."

"Of course, you will begin to say for this one what you
already said on behalf of the other."

"Because, Philip," said the queen dryly, "what you did
for the other, you are going to do for this one."

The prince bowed, slightly annoyed. "If I were to give
you facts," he said, "would you believe me?"

"If it regarded anything else but jealousy I would be-
lieve you without your bringing facts forward; but as
jealousy is in the case, I promise nothing."

"It is just the same as if your majesty were to desire me
to hold my tongue, and sent me away unheard."

TEN TEARS LATER. 227

*'Far from it; as you are my son, I owe yoii a mother's
indulgence."

"Oh, say what you think; you owe me as much indul-
gence as a madman deserves."

"Do not exaggerate, Philip, and take care how you
represent your wife to me as a woman of a depraved
mind "

"But facts, mother, facts!"

"Well, I am listening."

"This morning, at ten o'clock, they were playing music
in madame's apartments."

"No harm in that, surely."

"Monsieur de Guiche was talking with her alone — Ah!
I forgot to tell you that during the last ten days he has
never left her side."

"If they were doing any harm they would hide them-
selves."

"Very good," exclaimed the duke. "I expected you to
say that. Pray do not forget what you have just said.
This morning I took them by surprise, and showed my dis-
satisfaction in a very marked manner."

"Eely upon it, that is quite sufficient; it was, perhaps,
even a little too much. These young women easily take
offense. To reproach them for an error they have not com-
mitted is, sometimes, almost the same as telling them they
might do it."

"Very good, very good; but wait a minute. Do not for-
get what you have Just this minute said, that this morning's
lesson ought to have been sufficient, and that if they had
been doing what was wrong they would have concealed
themselves."

"Yes, I said so."

"Well, just now, repenting of my hastiness of this morn-
ing, and knowing that De Guiche was sulking in his own
apartments, I went to pay madame a visit. Can you guess
what, or whom, I found there? Another set of musicians;
more dancing, and De Guiche himself — he was concealed
there."

Anne of Austria frowned. "It was imprudent," she said.
"What did madame say?"

"Nothing."

"And De Guiche?"

"As much — oh, no! he muttered some impertinent re-
mark or another."

"Well, what is your opinion, Philip?"

Ji28 TEN YEAES LATER.

"That I have been made a fool of; that Buckingham was
only a pretext, and that De Guiche is the one who is really
guilty."

Anne shrugged her shoulders. "Well," she said, "what
else?"

"I wish De Guiche to be dismissed from my household,
as Buckingham was, and I shall ask the king, unless "

"Unless what?"

"Unless you, my dear mother, who are so clever and so
kind, will execute the commission yourself."

"I shall not do it, Philip."

"What! madame?"

"Listen, Philip: I am not disposed to pay people ill com-
pliments every day; I have some influence over young peo-
ple, but I cannot take advantage of it without running the
chance of losing it altogether. Besides, there is nothing to
prove that Monsieur de Guiche is guilty."

"He has displeased me."

"That is your own affair."

"Very well, I know what I shall do," said the prince
impetuously.

Anne looked at him with some uneasiness. "What do
you intend to do?" she said.

"I will have him drowned in my reservoir the next time I
find him in my apartments again." Having launched this
terrible threat, the prince expected his mother would be
frightened out of her senses; but the queen was unmoved
by it.

"Do so," she said.

Philip was as weak as a woman) and began to cry out:
"Every one betrays me — no one cares for me; my mother
even joins my enemies."

"Your mother, Philip, sees further in the matter than
you do, and does not care about advising you, since you do
not listen to her."

"I will go to the king."

"I was about to propose that to you. I am now expecting
his majesty; it is the hour he usually pays me a visit; ex-
plain the matter to him yourself."

She had hardly finished, when Philip heard the door of
the anteroom open with some noise. He began to feel
nervous. At the sound of the king's footsteps, which could
be heard upon the carpet, the duke hurriedly made his
escape out of the room. Anne of Austria could not resist
laughing, and was laughing still when the king entered.

TEN YEARS LATER. 229

He came very affectionately to inquire after the even now
uncertain health of the queen-mother, and to announce to
her that the preparations for the journey to Fontainebleau
were complete. Seeing her laugh, his uneasiness on her
account diminished, and he addressed her in a laughing
tone himself. Anne of Austria took him by the hand, and,
in a voice full of playfulness, said, "Do you know, sire,
that I am proud of being a Spanish woman?"

"Why, madame?"

"Because Spanish women are worth more than English
women, at least."

"Explain yourself."

"Since your marriage ypu have not, I believe, had a
single reproach to make against the queen."

"Certainly not."

"And you, too, have been married some time. Your
brother, on the contrary, has been married only a fortnight."

"AYell!"

"He is now finding fault with madame a second time."

"What, Buckingham still?"

"No, another."

"Who?"

"De Guiche."

"Keally, madame is a coquette, then."

"I fear so."

"My poor brother," said the king, laughing.

"You don't mind coquetting, it seems?"

"In madame, certainly I do; but madame is not a
coquette at heart."

"That may be, but your brother is excessively angry
about it."

"What does he want?"

"He wishes to drown De Guiche."

"That is a violent measure to resort to."

"Do not laugh; he is extremely irritated. Think of what
can be done."

"To save De Guiche — certainly."

"Oh, if your brother heard you, he would conspire against
you as your uncle Monsieur did against your father."

"No; Philip has too much affection for me for that, and
I, on my side, have too great a regard for him; we shall live
together on very good terms. But what is the substance of
his request?"

"That you will prevent madame from being a coquette,
and De Guiche from being amiable."

230 TEN YEARS LATEE.

"Is that all? My brother has an exalted idea of sover-
eign power. To reform a woman, not to say a word about
reforming a man."

"How will you set about it?"

"With a word to De Guiche, who is a clever fellow, I will
undertake to convince him."

"But madame?"

"That is more difficult; a word will not be enough. I
will compose a homily and read it to her."

"There is no time to lose."

"Oh, I will use the utmost diligence. There is a repeti-
tion of the ballet this afternoon."

"You will read her a lecture while you are dancing?"

"Yes, madame."

"You promise to convert her?"

"I will root out the heresy altogether, either by convinc-
ing her, or by extreme measures."

"That is all right, then. Do not mix me up in the affair;
madame would never forgive me in her life, and, as a
mother-in-law, I ought to try and live on good terms with
my daughter-in-law."

"The king, madame, will take all upon himself. But let
me reflect."

"What about?"

"It would be better, perhaps, if I were to go and see
madame in her own apartment."

"Would that not seem a somewhat seribus step to take?"

"Yes; but seriousness is not unbecoming in preachers,
and the music of the ballet would drown one-half of my
arguments. Besides, the object is to prevent any violent
measures on my brother's part, so that a little precipitation
may be advisable. Is madame in her own apartment?"

"I believe so."

"What is my statement of grievances to consist of?"

"In a few words, of the following: music uninterruptedly;
De Gruiche's assiduity; suspicions of treasonable plots and
practices."

"And the proofs?"

"There are none."

"Very well; I shall go at once to see madame." The
king turned to look in the mirrors at his costume, which
was very rich, and his face, which was as radiant and spark-
ling as diamonds. "I suppose my brother is kept a little at
a distance," said the king.

"Fire and .water cannot possibly be more opposite."

TEN" YEARS LATER. 231

"That will do. Permit me, madame, to kiss your hands,

the most beautiful hands in France."

"May you be successful, sire, be the family peacemaker."
"I do not employ an ambassador," said Louis; "which is

as much as to say that I shall succeed." He laughed as he

left the room, and carefully dusted his dress as he went

along.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE MEDIATOR.

When the king made his appearance in madame's apart-
ments the courtiers, whom the news of a conjugal misun-
derstanding had dispersed in the various apartments, began
to entertain the most serious apprehensions. A storm, too,
was brewing in that direction, the elements of which the
Chevalier de Lorraine, in the midst of the different groups,
was analyzing with delight, contributing to the weaker,
and acting, according to his own wicked designs, in such a
manner with regard to the stronger, as to produce the most
disastrous consequences possible. As Anne of Austria had
herself said, the presence of the king gave a solemn and
serious character to the event. Indeed, in the year 1662,
the dissatisfaction of Monsieur with madame, and the king's
intervention in the private affairs of Monsieur, was a mat-
ter of no inconsiderable moment.

The boldest, even, Avho had been the associates of the
Comte de Guiche, had, from the first moment, held aloof
from him, with a sort of nervous apprehension; and the
comte himself, infected by the general panic, retired to his
own apartments alone. The king entered madame's private
apartments, acknowledging and returning the salutations,
as he was always in the habit of doing. The ladies of honor
were ranged in a line on his passage along the gallery. Al-
though his majesty was very much preoccupied, he gave the
glance of a master at the two rows of young and beautiful
girls, who modestly cast down their eyes, blushing as they
felt the king's gaze upon them. One only of the number,
whose long hair fell in silken masses upon the most beauti-
ful skin imaginable, was pale, and could hardly sustain her-
self, notwithstanding the knocks which her companion gave
her with her elbow. It was La Valliere, whom Montalais
supported in that manner, by whispering some of that

232 TEN YEARS LATER.

courage to her with which she herself was so abundantly
provided. The king could not resist turning round to look
at them again. Their faces, which had already been raised,
were again lowered, but the only fair head among them
remained motionless, as if all the strength and intelligence
she had left had abandoned her. When he entered ma-
dame's room Louis found his sister-in-law reclining upon
the cushions of her cabinet. She rose and made a profound
reverence, murmuring some words of tliP.nks for the honor
she was receiving. She then resumed her seat, overcome
by a sudden weakness, which was no doubt assumed, for a
delightful color animated her cheeks, and her eyes, still red
from the tears she had recently shed, never had more fire
in them. When the king was seated, and as soon as he had
remarked, with that accuracy of observation which charac-
terized him, the disorder of the apartment, and the no less
great disorder of madame's countenance, he assumed a play-
ful manner, saying, "My dear sister, at what hour to-day
would you wish the repetition of the ballet to take place?"

Madame, shaking her charming head, slowly and languish-
ingly said: "Ah! sire, will you graciously excuse my ap-
pearance at the repetition; I was about to send to inform
your majesty that I could not attend to-day."

"Indeed," said the king, in apparent surprise; "are you
not well?"

"No, sire."

"1 will summon your medical attendants, then."

"No; for they can do nothing for my indisposition."

"You alarm me."

"Sire, I wish to ask your majesty's permission to return
to England."

The king started. "Eeturn to England," he said; "do
you really say what you mean?"

"I say it reluctantly, sire,". replied the granddaughter of
Henry IV. firmly, her beautiful black eyes flashing. "I
regret to have to confide such matters to your majesty, but
I feel myself too unhappy at your majesty's court; and I
wish to return to my own family."

"Madame, madame," exclaimed the king, as he ap-
proached her.

"Listen to me, sire," continued the young woman, ac-
quiring by degrees that ascendency over her interrogator
which her beauty and her nervous nature conferred; "young
as I am, I have already suifered humiliation, and have
endured disdain here. Oh! do not contradict me, sire,-"
she said, with a smile. The king colored.

TEN YEARS LATER. 233

"Then," she continued, "1 have reasoned myself into
the belief that Heaven had called me into existence with
that object, I, the daughter of a powerful monarch; that
since my father had been deprived of life, Heaven could
well smite my pride. I have suifered greatly; I have been
the cause too, of my mother suffering much; but I have
sworn that if Providence had ever placed me in a position
of independence, even were it that of a workwoman of the
lower classes, who gains her bread by her labor, I would
never suffer humiliation again. That day has now arrived; I
have been restored to the fortune due to my rank and to
my birth; I have even ascended again the steps of a throne,
and I thought that, in allying myself with a French prince,
I should find in him a relation, a friend, an equal; but I
perceive I have found only a master, and I rebel. My
mother shall know nothing of it; you whom I respect,
whom I — love — " The king started; never had any voice
so gratified his ear.

"You, sire, who know all, since you have come here, you
will, perhaps, understand me. If you had not come, I
should have gone to you. I wish for permission to pass
freely. I leave it to your delicacy of feeling to exculpate
and to protect me."

"My dear sister," murmured the king, overpowered by
this bold attack, "have you reflected upon the enormous
difficulty of the project you have conceived?"

"Sire, I do not reflect, I feel. Attacked, I instinctively
repel the attack, nothing more."

"Come, tell me what have they done to you?" said the
king.

The princess, it will have been seen, by this peculiarly
feminine maneuver, had escaped every reproach, and ad-
vanced on her side a far more serious one; from an accused
she became the accuser. It is an infallible sign of guilt;
but notwithstanding that, all women, even the least clever
of the sex, invariably know how to derive some means of
attaining success. The king had forgotten that he had
paid her a visit in order to say to her, "What have you
done to my brother?" and that he was reduced to saying
to her, "What have they done to you?"

"What have they done to me?" replied madame, "one
must be a woman to understand it, sire — they have made
me weep;" and with one of her fingers, whose slenderness
and perfect whiteness were unequaled, she pointed to her
brilliant eyes swimming in tears, and again began to weep.

234 TEN YEARS LATER.

'*I implore you, my dear sister," said the king, advanc-
ing to take her warm and throbbing hand, which she aban-
doned to him.

"In the first place, sire, I was deprived of the presence
of my brother's friend. The Duke of Buckingham Avas an
agreeable, cheerful visitor; my own countryman, who knew
my habits; I will say, almost a companion, so accustomed
had he been to pass^ our days together, with our other
friends upon the beautiful piece of water at St. James'."

"But Villiers was in love with you?"

"A pretext! What does it matter," she said seriously,
"whether the duke was in love with me or not? Is a man
in love so very dangerous for me? Ah! sire, it is not
sufficient for a man to love a woman." And she smiled so
tenderly, and with so much archness, that the king felt his
heart beat and throb within his breast.

"At all events, if my brother were jealous?" interrupted
the king.

"Very well, I admit that is a reason; and the duke was
sent away accordingly."

"No, not sent away."

"Driven away, expelled, dismissed, then, if you prefer it,
sire. One of the first gentlemen of Europe was obliged to
leave the court of the King of France, of Louis XIV., like
a beggar, on account of a glance or a bouquet. It was
little worthy of the most gallant court; but forgive me,
sire; I forgot that, in speaking thus, I am attacking your
sovereign power."

"I assure you, my dear sister, it was not I who dismissed
the Duke of Buckingham; I was very charmed with him."

"It was not you?" said madame; "ah! so mucli the bet-
ter;" and she emphasized the "so much the better," as if
she had instead said, "so much the worse."

A few minutes' silence ensued. She then resumed: "The
Duke of Buckingham having left, I now know why and by
whose means, I thought I should have recovered my
tranquillity; but not at all, for all at once Monsieur finds
another pretext; all at once "

"All at once," said the king playfully, "some one else
presents himself. It is but natural; you are beautiful, and
will always meet with those who will love you."

"In that case," exclaimed the princess, "I shall create a
solitude around me, which indeed seems to be what is
wished, and what is being prepared for me; but no, I pre-
fer to return to Loudon. There I am known and appre-

TEN TEAKS LATEK. 335

ciated. I shall have friends, without fearing they may be
regarded as my lovers. Shame! it is a disgraceful suspicion,
and unworthy a gentleman. Monsieur has lost everything
in my estimation, since he has shown me he can be the
tyrant of a woman."

"Nay, nay; my brother's only fault is that of loving you."

"Love me! Monsieur love me! Ah! sire," and she burst
out laughing. "Monsieur will never love any woman," she
said; "Monsieur loves himself too much; no, unhappily for
me. Monsieur's jealousy is of the worst kind — he is jealous
without love."

"Confess, however," said the king, who began to be ex-
cited by this varied and animated conversation, "confess
that De Guiche loves you."

"Ah! sire, 1 know nothing about that."

"You must have perceived it. A man who loves readily
betrays himself."

"Monsieur de Guiche has not betrayed himself."

"My dear sister, yoi are defending Monsieur de Guiche."

"I, indeed ! Ah, sire, I only needed a susiDicion from your-
self to complete my wretchedness."

"No, madame, no," returned the king hurriedly; "do
not distress yourself. Nay, you are weeping. I implore
you to calm yourself."

She wept, however, and large tears fell upon her hands;
the king took one of her hands in his, and kissed the tears
away. She looked at him so sadly and with so much ten-
derness that he felt his heart throb under her gaze.

"You have no kind of feeling, then, for De Guiche?" he
said, more disturbed than became his character of mediator.

"None — absolutely none."

"Then I can reassure my brother in that respect?"

"Nothing will satisfy him, sire. Do not believe he is
jealous. Monsieur has been badly advised by some one, and
he is of an anxious disposition."

"He may well be so when you are concerned," said the

Madame cast down her eyes, and was silent; the king did
so likewise, still holding her hand all the while. His
momentary silence seemed to last an age. Madame gently
withdrew her hand, and from that moment she felt her
triumph was certain, and the field of battle was her own.

"Monsieur complains," said the king, "that you prefer
the society of private individuals to his own conversation
and society."

236 TEN YEARS LATER.

"But Monsieur passes his life in looking at his face in the
glass, and in plotting all sorts of spiteful things against wo-
men with the Chevalier de Lorraine."

"Oh, you are going somewhat too far."

"I only say what is the fact. Do you observe for your-
self, sire, and you will see that I am right."

"I will observe; but in the meantime, what satisfaction
can I give my brother?"

"My departure."

"You repeat that word," exclaimed the king imprudently,
"as if, during the last ten minutes, such a change had been
produced that madame would have had all her ideas on the
subject thoroughly changed."

"Sire, I cannot be happy here any longer," she said.
"Monsieur de Guiehe annoys Monsieur. Will h§ be sent away,
too?"

"If it be necessary, why not?" replied the king, smiling.

"Well; and after Monsieur de Guiehe — whom, by the bye,
I shall regret — I warn you, sire."

"Ah, you will regret him?"

"Certainly; he is amiable; he has a great friendship for
me, and he amuses me."

"If Monsieur were only to hear you," said thd king, slightly
annoyed, "do you know I would not undertake to make it up
again between you; nay, I would not even attempt it."

"Sire, can you, even now, prevent ]\Ionsieur from being
jealous of the first person who may approach ? I know very
well that Monsieur de Guiehe is not the first."

"Again: I warn you that as a good brother I shall take a
dislike to De Guiehe."

"Ah, sire, do not, I entreat you, adopt either the sym-
pathies or the dislikes of Monsieur. Eemain the king; far
better for yourself and for every one else."

"You jest most charmingly, madame; and I can well un-
derstand how those whom you attack must adore you."

"And is that the reason why you, sire, whom I had re-
garded as my defender, are about to join those who perse-
cute me?" said madame.

"I your persecutor ! Heaven forbid !"

"Then," she continued, languishingly, "grant me a favor."

"Whatever you wish."

"Let me return to England."

"Never, never!" exclaimed Louis XIV.

TEN" YEARS LATER. 237

"I am a prisoner, then?"

"In France, yes."

**What must I do, then?"

"i will tell you Instead of devoting yourself to friend-
ships which are somewhat unsuitable, instead of alarming
us by your retirement, remain always in our society, do not
leave us, let us live as a united family. Monsieur de
Guiche is certainly very amiable; but if, at least, we do not
possess his wit "

*'Ah, sire, you know very well that you are pretending
to be modest."

"No, I swear to you. One may be a king, and yet feel
that he possesses fewer chances of pleasing than many other
gentlemen."

"I am sure, sire, that you do not believe a single word
you are saying."

The king looked at madame tenderly, and said, "Will
you promise me one thing?"

"What is it?"

"That you will no longer waste upon strangers, in your
own apartments, the time which you owe us. Shall we
make an offensive and defensive alliance against the com-
mon enemy?"

"An alliance with you, sire?"

"Why not? Are you not a sovereign power?"

"But are you, sire, a very faithful ally?"

"You shall see, madame."

"And when shall this alliance commence?"

"This very day."

"I will draw up the treaty, and you shall sign it."

"Blindly."

"Then, sire, I promise you wonders; you are the star of
the court, and when you make your appearance everything
will be resplendent."

"Oh, madame, madame," said Louis XIV., "you know
well that there is no brilliancy which does not proceed from
yourself, and that if I assume the sun as my device, it is
only an emblem."

"Sire, you flatter your ally, and you wish to deceive her,"
said madame, threatening the king with her finger raised
menacingly.

"What! you believe I am deceiving you, when I assure
you of my affection?"

"Yes."

"What makes you so suspicious?'*

238 TEN YEARS LATER.

"One thing."

"What is it? I shall indeed be unhappy if I do cot over-
come it."

"That one thing in question, sire, is not in jour power,
not even in the power of Heaven."

"Tell me what it is."

"The past."

"I do not understand, madame," said the king, precisely
because he had understood her but too well.

The princess took his hand in hers. "Sire," she said, "I
have had the misfortune to displease you for so long a
period that I have almost the right to ask myself to-day
why you were able to accept me as a sister-in-law."

"Displease me! You have displeased me?"

"Nay, do not deny it, for I remember it well."

"Our alliance shall date from to-day," exclaimed the
king, with a warmth that was not assumed. "You will
not think any more of the past, will you ? I myself am
resolved that I will not. I shall always remember the
present; I have it before my eyes; look." And he led the
princess before a mirror, in which she saw herself reflected,
blushing and beautiful enough to overcome a saint.

"It is all the same," she murmured; "it will not be a
very worthy alliance."

"Must I swear?" inquired the king, intoxicated by the
voluptuous turn the whole conversation had taken.

"Oh, I do not refuse a good oath," said madame; "it
has always the semblance of security."

The king knelt upon a footstool and took hold of ma-
dame's hand. She, with a smile that a painter could not
succeed in depicting, and which a poet only could imagine,
gave him both her hands, in which he hid his burning face.
Neither of them could utter a syllable. The king felt
madame withdraw her hands, caressing his face while she
did so. He rose immediately and left the apartment. The
courtiers remarked his heightened color, and concluded
that the scene had been a stormy one. The Chevalier de
Lorraine, however, hastened to say, "Nay, be comforted,
gentlemen, his majesty is always pale when he is angry."

TEN YEARS LATER. 239

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE ADVISERS.

The king left madame in a state of agitation which it
■would have been difficult even for himself to have explained.
It is impossible, in fact, to explain the secret play of those
strange sympathies, which suddenly, and apparently with-
out any cause, are excited, after many years passed in the
greatest calmness and indifference, by two hearts destined
to love each other. Why had Louis formerly disdained,
almost hated, madame? Why did he nov/ find the same
woman so beautiful, so captivating? And why, not only
were his thoughts occupied about her, but still more, why
were they so occupied about her? Why, in fact, had ma-
dame, whose eyes and mind were sought for in another
direction, shown during the last week toward the king a
semblance of favor which encouraged the belief of still
greater regard. It must not be suppos d that Louis pro-
posed to himself any plan of seduction; the tie which
united madame to his brother was, or at least seemed, for
him an insuperable barrier; he was even too far removed
from that barrier to perceive its existence. But on the
downward path of those passions in which the heart rejoices,
toward which youth impels us, no one can decide where
to stop, not even he who has in advance calculated all the
chances of his own success or of another's submission. As
far as madame was concerned, her regard for the king may
easily be explained: she was young, a coquette, and ardently
fond of admiration. Hcr^ was one of those buoyant, im-
petuous natures, which upon a theater would leap over the
greatest obstacles to obtain an acknowledgment of applause
from the spectators. I'; was not surprising, then, that
after having been adored by Buckingham, by De Guiche,
who was superior to BuclringL ^m, even if it were only from
that great merit, so much appreciated by woman, that is to
say, novelty — it was not surprising, we say, that the prin-
cess should rai. e her ambition to being admired by the
king, who not only was the first person in the kingdom, but
was one of the handsomest and wittiest men in it. As for
the sudden passion with which Louis was inspired for his
sister-in-law, physiology would perhaps supply the explana-
tion of it by some hackneyed commonplace reasons, and
nature from some of her mysterious affinity of characters.
Madame had the most beautiful black eyes in the world;

240 TEN YEARS LATER.

Louis, eyes as beautiful, but blue. Madame was laughter-
loving aud unreserved in her manners; Louis, melancholy
and diffident. Summoned to meet each other, for the first
time, upon the grounds of interest and common curiosity,
these two opposite natures were mutually influenced by the
contact of their reciprocal contradictions of character.
Louis, when he returned to his own rooms, acknowledged
to himself that madame was the most attractive woman of
his court. Madame, left alone, delightedly thought that
she had made a great impression on the king. This feeling
with her must remain passive, while the king could not but
act with all the natural vehemence of the heated fancies of
a young man, and of a young man who has but to express
a wish to see his wishes executed.

The first thing the king did was to announce to Mon-
sieur that everything was quietly arranged; that madame
had the greatest respect, the sincerest affection for him; but
that she was of a proud, impetuous character, and that her
susceptibilities were so acute as to require a very careful
management.

Monsieur replied in the sour tone of voice he generally
adopted with his brother, that he could not very well un-
derstand the susceptibilities of a woman whose conduct
might, in his opinion, expose her to censorious remarks,
and that if any one had a ricrht to feel wounded, it was he.
Monsieur himself. To this the king replied in a quick tone
of voice, which showed the interest he took in his sister-in-
law, "Thank Heaven, madime is above censure!"

"The censure of others, certainly, I admit," said Mon-
sieur, "but not above mine, I presume."

"Well," said the king, "all I have to say, Philip, is, that
madame's conduct does not deserve your censurd. She
certainly is heedless and singular, but professes the best
feelings. The English character is not always well under-
stood in France, aud the liberty of English manners some-
times surprises those who do not know the extent to which
this liberty is enriched by innocence."

"Ah!" said Monsieur, more and more piqued, "from the
very moment that your majesty absolves my wife, whom I
accuse, my wife is not guilty, and I have nothing more to
say."

"Philip," replied the king hastily, for he felt the voice
of conscience murmuring softly in his heart that Monsieur
was not altogether wrong, "what I have done, and what I
have said, was only for your happiness. I was told that

TEN" YEARS LATER. 241

you complained of a want of confidence or attention on
madame's part, and I did not wish yonr i;neasiness to be
prolonged any further. It is part of my duty to watch over
your household, as over that of the humblest of my subjects.
I have seen, therefore, with the sincerest pleasure that your
apprehensions have no foundation."

''And," continued Monsieur, in an interrogative tone of
voice, and fixing his eyes upon his brother, "what your
majesty has discovered for madame — and I bow myself to
your majesty's superior judgment — have you also verified it
for those who have been the cause of the scandal of which
I complain?"

"You are right, Philip," said the king; "I will consider
that point." These words comprised an order as well as a
consolation; the prince felt it to be so, and withdrew. As
for Louis, he went to seek his mother, for he felt that he
had need of a more complete absolution than that he had
just received from his brother. Anne of Austria did not
entertain for M. de Guiche the same reasons for indulgence
she had had for Buckingham. She perceived, at the very
first words he pronounced, that Louis was not disposed to
be severe, as she was indeed. It was one of^ the stratagems
of the good queen, in order to succeed in ascertaining the
truth. But Louis was no longer in his apprenticeship;
already for more than a year past he had been king, and
during that year he had learned how to dissemble. Listen-
ing to Anne of Austria, in order to permit her to disclose
her own thoughts, testifying his approval only by look and
by gesture, he became convinced, from certain profound
glances, and from certain skillful insinuations, that the
queen, so clear-sighted in matters of gallantry, had, if not
guessed, at least suspected, his weakness for madame. Of
all his auxiliaries, Anne of Austria would be the most im-
portant to secure: of all his enemies, Anne of Austria would
have been the most dangerous. Louis therefore changed
his maneuvers. He complained of madame, absolved Mon-
sieur, listened to what his mother had to say of De Guiche,
as he had previously listened to what she had had to say of
Buckingham; and then, when he saw that she thought she
had gained a complete victory over him, he left her. The
whole of the court, that is to say, all the favorites and more
intimate associates, and they were numerous, since there
were already five masters, were assembled in the evening
for the repetition of the ballet. This interval had beeu
occupied by poor De Guiche in receiving visits. Among
Dumas— Vol. XY. H

242 TEN YEARS LATER.

the number was one which he hoped and feared nearly to
an equal extent. It was that A the Chevalier de Lorraine.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the chevalier entered
De Guiche's rooms. His looks were of the most assuring
character. "Monsieur," said he to De Guiche, "was in an
excellent humor, and no one co-Jd say that the slightest
cloud had passed across the conj gal sky. Besides, Mon-
sieur was not one to bear ill-f eeling= "

For a very long time past, during his residence at the
court, the Chevalier de Lorraine had decided that, of Louis
XlII.'s two sons. Monsieur was the one who had inherited
the father's character — an uncertain, irresolute character;
impulsively good, evilly disposed at bottom; but certainly
a cipher for his friends. He had especially cheered De
Guiche, by pointing out to him that madame would, before
long, succeed in governing her husband, and that, conse-
quently, that man would govern Monsieur who should suc-
ceed in influencing madame. To this, De Guiche, full of
mistrust and presence of mind, had replied, "Yes, cheva-
lier; but I believe madame to be a very dangerous person."

"In what respect?"

"She has perceived that Monsieur is not very passionately
inclined toward women."

"Quite true," said the Chevalier de Lorraine, laughing.

"In that case, madame will choose the first one who ap-
proaches, in order to make him the object of her prefer-
ence, and to bring back her husband by jealousy."

"Deep! deep!" exclaimed the chevalier.

"But true," replied De Guiche. But neither the one
nor the other expressed his real thought. De Guiche, at
the very moment he thus attacked madame's character,
mentally asked her forgiveness from the bottom of his
heart. The chevalier, v/hile admiring De Guiche's pene-
tration, led him, blindfolded, to the brink of the precipice.
De Guiche then questioned him more directly upon the
effect produced by the scene of that morning, and upon the
still more serious effect produced by the scene at dinner.

"But I have already told you they are all laughing at it,"
replied the Chevalier de Lorraine, "and Monsieur himself
at the head of them."

"Yet," hazarded De Guiche, "I have heard that the king
paid madame a visit."

"Yes, precisely so. Madame was the only one who did
not laugh, and the king went to her in order to make her
laugh too."

TE]N -lEARR LATER. 243

*'So that-

*'So that nothing is altered in the arrangements of the
day," said the chevalier.

"And is there a repetition of the ballet this evening?'*

"Certainly."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite so," returned the chevalier.

At this moment of the conversation between the two
young men Raoul entered, looking full of anxiety. As
soon as the chevalier, who had a secret dislike for him, as
for every other noble character, perceived him enter, he
rose from his seat.

"What do you advise me to do, then?" inquired De
Guiche of the chevalier.

"I advise you to go to sleep with perfect tranquillity, my
dear comte."

"And my advice, De Guiche," said Eaoul, "is the very
opposite."

"What is that?"

"To mount your horse and set off at once for one of your
estates; on your arrival, follow the chevalier's advice, if you
like; and, what is more, you can sleep there as long and as
tranquilly as you please."

"What! set off!" exclaimed the chevalier, feigning sur-
prise; "why should De Guiche set off?"

"Because, and you cannot be ignorant of it — you particu-
larly so — because every one is talking about the scene which
has passed between Monsieur and De Guiche." De Guiche
turned pale.

"Not at all," replied the chevalier, "not at all, and you
have been wrongly informed. Monsieur de Bragelonne."

"I have been perfectly well informed, on the contrary,
monsieur," replied Raoul, "and the advice I give De
Guiche is that of a friend."

During this discusssion De Guiche, somewhat shaken,
looked alternately first at one and then at the other of his
advisers. He inwardly felt that a game, important in all
its consequences for the rest of his life, was being played at
that moment.

"Is it not the fact," said the chevalier, putting the ques-
tion to the comte himself, "is it not the fact, De Guiche,
the scene was not so tempestuous as the Vicomte de Brage-
lonne seems to think, and who^ moreover, was not himself
there?"

"Whether tempestuous or not," persisted Raoul, "it is

5:544 TE2T YEARS LATER.

not precisely of the scene itself that I am speaking, but of
the consequences that may ensue. I know that Monsieur
has threatened, and I know that madamehas been in tears."

'^Madame in tears!" exclaimed De Guiche, imprudently
clasping his hands.

"Ah!" said the chevalier, laughing, "this is indeed a
circumstance I was not acquainted with. You are decidedly
better informed than I am. Monsieur de Bragelonne."

"And it is because I am better informed than yourself,
chevalier, that I insist upon De Guiche leaving."

"No, no; I regret to differ from you, vicomte; but his
departure is unnecessary. Why, indeed, should he leave?
Tell us why."

"The king!"

"The king!" exclaimed De Guiche.

"Yes; I tell you the king has taken up the affair."

"Bah!" said the chevalier; "the king likes De Guiche,
and particularly his father; reflect that, if the comte were
to leave, it would be an admission that he had done some-
thing which merited rebuke."

"Why so?"

"No doubt of it; when one runs away, it is either from
guilt or from fear."

"Or because a man is offended, because he is wrongfully
accused," said Bragelonne. "AVe will assign as a reason
for his departure that he feels hurt and injured — nothing
will be easier; we will say that we both did our utmost to
keep him, and you, at least, will not be speaking otherwise
than the truth. ' Come, De Guiche, you are innocent, and,
being so, the scene of to-day must have wounded you. So
set off."

"No, De Guiche, remain hvhere you are," said the cheva-
lier; "precisely as Monsieur de Bragelonne has put it, be-
cause you are innocent. Once more, forgive me, vicomte;
but my opinion is the very opposite to your own."

"And you are at perfect liberty to maintain it, monsieur;
but be assured that the exile which De Guiche will volun-
tarily impose upon himself will be of short duration. He
can terminate it whenever he pleases, and, returning from
his voluntary exile, he will meet with smiles from all lips;
while, on the contrary, the anger of the king may draw
down a storm upon his head, the end of which no one can
foresee."

The chevalier smiled, and murmured to himself, "That
is the very thing I wish." And at the same time he

TEN" YEARS LATER. 245

shrugged his shoulders, a movement which did not escape
the comte, who dreaded, if he quitted the court, to seem to
yield to a feeling of fear.

''No, no; I have decided, Bragelonne; I stay."

"I prophesy, then," said Eaoul sadly, "that misfortune
will befall you, De Guiche."

"I, too, am a prophet, but not a prophet of evil; on the
contrary, comte, I say to you, remain."

'"Are you sure," inquired De Guiche, "that the repeti-
tion of the ballet still takes place?"

"Quite sure."

"Well, you see, Eaoul," continued De Guiche, endeavor-
ing to smile, "you see the court is not so very sorrowful, or
so readily disposed for internal dissensions, when dancing
is carried on with such assiduity. Come, acknowledge
that," said the comte to Raoul, who shook his head, saying:

"I have nothing to add."

"But," inquired the chevalier, curious to learn whence
Raoul had obtained his information, the exactitude of which
he was inwardly forced to admit, "since you say you are
well informed, vicomte, how can you be better informed
than myself, who am one of the prince's most intimate
companions?"

"To such a declaration I submit. Yon certainly ought
to be perfectly well informed, I admit; and, as a man of
honor is incapable of saying anything but what he knows to
be true, or of speaking otherwise than what he thinks, I
shall say no more, but confess myself defeated, and leave
you in possession of the field of battle."

Whereupon Eaoul, who now seemed only to care to be
left quiet, threw himself upon a large couch, while the
comte summoned his servants to aid him in dressing. The
chevalier, finding that time was passing away, wished to
leave; but he feared, too, that Eaoul, left alone with De
Guiche, might yet influence him to change his resolution.
He therefore made use of his last resource.

"Madame," he said, "will be brilliant; she appears to-
day in her costume of Pomona."

"Yes, that is so," exclaimed the comte.

"And she has Just given directions in consequence," con-
tinued the chevalier. "You know. Monsieur de Brage-
lonne, that the king is to appear as Spring."

"It will be admirable," said De Guiche; "and that is a
better reason for me to remain than any you have yet given,
because I am to appear as Autumn, and shall have to dance

246 TEN TEARS LATER.

with madame. I cannot absent myself without the king's
orders, since my departure would interrupt the ballet."

"I," said the chevalier, "am to be only a simple Egyptian;
true it is, I am a bad dancer, and my legs are not well made.
Gentlemen, adieu. Do not forget the basket of fruit,
which you are to offer to Pomona, comte."

"Be assured," said De Guiche delightedly, "I shall for-
get nothing,"

"I am now quite certain that he will remain," murmured
the Chevalier de Lorraine to himself.

Eaoul, when the chevalier had left, did not even attempt
to dissuade his friend, for he felt that it would be trouble
thrown away; he merely observed to the comte, in his mel-
ancholy and melodious voice, "You are embarking in a
most dangerous enterprise. I know you well; you go to
extremes in everything, and she whom you love does so too.
Admitting for an instant that she should at last love
you "

"Oh, never!" exclaimed De Guiche.

"Why do you say never?"

"Because it would be a great misfortune for both of us."

"In that case, instead of regarding you as simply impru-
dent, I cannot but consider you as absolutely mad."

"Why?"

"Are you perfectly sure, mind, answer me frankly, that
you do not wish her whom you love to make any sacrifice
for you?"

"Yes, yes; quite sure."

"Love her, then, at a distance."

"What! at a distance?"

"Certainly; what matters being present or absent, since
you expect nothing from her. Love a portrait, a remem-
brance."

"Eaoul!"

"Love a shadow, an illusion, a chimera; be devoted to
the affection itself, in giving a name to your ideality."

"Ah!"

"You turn away; your servants approach; I shall say no
more. In good or bad fortune, De Guiche, depend upon
me."

"Indeed I shall do so."

"Very well; that is all I had to say to you. Spare no
pains in your person, De Guiche, and look your very best.
Adieu."

"You will not be present, then, at the repetition,
vicomte?"

TEN YEARS LATER. 247

*'No; I shall have a visit to pay in town. Farewell, De
Guiche."

The reception was to take place in the king's apartments.
In the first place, there were the queens, then madame,
and a few ladies of the court, who had been selected. A
great number of courtiers, also carefully selected, occupied
the time, before the dancing commenced, in conversing, as
people knew how to converse in those times. None of the
ladies who had received invitations appeared in the costumes
of the fete, as the Chevalier de Lorraine had predicted, but
many conversations took place about the rich and ingenious
toilets designed by different painters for the ballet of "The
Demi-Gods," for thus were termed the kings and queens,
of which Fontainebleau Avas about to become the Pantheon.
Monsieur arrived, holding in his hand a drawing represent-
ing his character; he looked somewhat anxious; he bowed
courteously to the young queen and his mother, but saluted
madame almost cavalierly. His notice of her and his cold
ness of manner were observed by all. M. de Guiche in-
demnified the princess by a look of passionate devotion, and
it must be admitted that madame, as she raised her eyes,
returned it to him with usury. It is unquestionable that
De Guiche had never looked so handsome, for madame's
glance had had the effect of lighting up the features of the
son of the Marshal de Grammont. The king's sister-in-
law felt a storm mustering above her head; she felt, too,
that during the whole of the day, so fruitful in future
events, she had acted unjustly, if not treasonably, toward
one who loved her with such a depth of devotion. In her
eyes, the moment seemed to have arrived for an acknowl-
edgment to the poor victim of the injustice of the moi'ning.
Her heart spoke, and murmured the name of De Guiche;
the comte was sincerely pitied, and accordingly gained the
victory over all others. Neither Monsieur, nor the king,
nor the Duke of Buckingham was any longer thought of;
and De Guiche at that moment reigned without a rival.
But although Monsieur also looked very handsome, still he
could not be compared to the comte. It is well known —
indeed, all women say so — that a very wide difference in-
variably exists between the good looks of a lover and those
of a husband. Besides, in the present case, after Monsieur
had left, and after the courteous and affectionate recogni-
tion of the young queen and of the queen-mother, and the
careless and indifferent notice of madame, which all the
courtiers had remarked, all these motives gave the lover

248 TEN YEAES LATER.

the advantage over the husband. Monsieur was too great
a personage to notice these details. Nothing is so certain
as a well-settled idea of superiority to prove the inferiority
of the man who has that opinion of himself. The king
arrived. Every one looked for what might possibly happen,
in the glance, which began to bestir the world, like the
brow of Jupiter Tonans. Louis had none of his brother's
gloominess, but was perfectly radiant. Having examined a
greater part of the drawings which were displayed for his
inspection on every side, he gave his opinion or made his
remarks upon them, and in this manner rendered some
happy and others unhappy by a single word. Suddenly
his glance, which was smilingly directed toward madame,
detected the silent 'Correspondence which was established
between the princess and the comte. He bit his lip, but
when he opened them again to utter a few commonplace
remarks, he said, advancing toward the queens:

"I have Just been informed that everything is now pre-
pared at Fontainebleau, in accordance with my directions."
A murmur of satisfaction arose from the different groups,
and the king perceived on every face the greatest anxiety
to receive an invitation for the fetes. "I shall leave to-
morrow," he added. Whereupon the profoundest silence
immediately ensued. "And I invite," said the king, finish-
ing, "all those who are now present to get ready to accom-
pany me."

Smiling faces were now everywhere visible, with the ex-
ception of Monsieur, who seemed to retain his ill-humor.
The different noblemen and ladies of the court thereupon
defiled before the king, one after the other, in order to
thank his majesty for the great honor which had been con-
ferred upon them by the invitation. When it came to De
Guiche's turn, the king said:

"Ah! Monsieur de Guiche, I did not see you."

The comte bowed, and madame turned pale. De Guiche
was about to open his lips to express his thanks, when the
king said:

"Comte, this is the season for farming purposes in the
country. I am sure your tenants in Normandy will be glad
to see you."

The king, after this severe attack, turned his back to the
poor comte, whose turn it was now to become pale; he ad-
vanced a few steps toward the king, forgetting that the
king is never spoken to except in reply to questions
addressed.

TEK TEAES LATER. 249

"I have perhaps misun'derstood your majesty," he stam-
mered out.

The king turned his head slightly, and with a cold and
stern glance, which plunged like a sword relentlessly into
the hearts of those under disgrace, repeated:

"I said retire to your estates;" and allowing every sylla-
ble to fall slowly, one by one.

A cold perspiration bedewed the comte's face, his hands
convulsively opened, and his hat, which he held between
his trembling fingers, fell to the ground. Louis sought his
mother's glance as though to show her that he was master;
he sought his brother's triumj)hant look, as if to ask him if
he were satisfied Avith the vengeance taken; and, lastly, his
eyes fell upon madame; but the j)rincess was laughing and
smiling with Mme. de Noailles. She had heard nothing,
or rather had pretended not to hear at all. The Chevalier
de Lorraine looked on also, with one of those looks of set-
tled hostility which seemed to give to a man's glance the
power of a lever when it raises an obstacle, wrests it away,
and casts it to a distance. M. de Guiche was left alone in
the king's cabinet, the whole of the company having de-
parted. Shadows seemed to dance before his eyes. He
suddenly broke through the fixed despair which over-
whelmed him, and flew to hide himself in his own rooms,
where Eaoul awaited him, confident in his own sad pre-
sentiments.

"Well?" he murmured, seeing his friend enter, bare-
headed, with a wild gaze and tottering gait.

"Yes, yes, it is true," said De C4uiche, unable to utter
more, and falling exhausted upon the couch.

"And she?" inquired Eaoul.

"She!" exclaimed his unhappy friend, as he raised his
hand, clinched in anger, toward heaven. "She "

"What did she say and do?"

"She said that her dress suited her admirably, and then
she laughed."

A fit of hysteric laughter seemed to shatter his nerves, for
he fell backward, completely overcome.

250 TEN" TEARS LATER.

CHAPTER XXXV.

FONTAINEBLEAU.

For four days every kind of enchantment brought to-
gether in the magnificent gardens of Fontainebleau had
converted this spot into a place of the most perfect enjoy-
ment. M. Colbert seemed gifted with ubiquity. In the
morning there were the accounts of the previous night's
expenses to settle; during the day, programmes, essays,
enlistments, payments. M. Colbert had amassed four mil-
lions of francs, and dispersed them with a prudent economy.
He was horrified at the expenses which mythology involved;
every wood-nymph, every dryad did not cost less than a
hundred francs a day. The dress alone amounted to three
hundred francs. The expense of powder and sulphur for
fireworks amounted, every night, to a hundred thousand
francs. In addition to these, the illuminations on the
borders of the sheet of water cost thirty thousand francs
every evening. The fetes had been magnificent, and Col-
bert could not restrain his delight. From time to time he
noticed madame and the king setting forth on hunting ex-
peditions, or preparing for the reception of different fantastic
personages, solemn ceremonials, which had been extempo-
rized a fortnight before, and in which madame's sparkling
wit and the king's magnificence were equally displayed.

For madame, the heroine of the fete, replied to the ad-
dresses of the deputations from unknown races — Gara-
manths, Scythians, Hyperboreans, Caucasians, and Pata-
gonians, who seemed to issue from the ground, for the
purpose of approaching her with their congratulations; and
upon every representative of these races the king bestowed
a diamond or some other article of great value. Then the
deputies, in verses more or less amusing, compared the king
to the sun, madame to Phoebe, the sun's sister, and the
queen and Monsieur were no more spoken of than if the
king had married Mme. Henrietta of England, and not
Maria Theresa of Austria. The happy pair, hand in hand,
imperceptibly pressing each other's fingers, drank in deep
draughts the sweet beverage of adulation, by which the at-
tractions of youth, beauty, power, and love are enhanced.
Every one at Fontainebleau was amazed at the extent of
the influence which madame had so rapidly acquired over
the king, and whispered among themselves that madame
was, in point of fact, the true queen^ and, in effect, the

TEN YEAKS LATER. 251

king himself proclaimed its truth by his every thought,
word, and look. He formed his wishes, he drew his inspira-
tions from madame's eyes, and his delight was unbounded
when madarae deigned to smile upon him. And was ma-
dame, on her side, intoxicated with the power she wielded,
as she beheld every one at her feet? This was a question
she herself could hardly answer; but what she did know
was, that she could frame no wish, and that she felt herself
to be perfectly happy. The result of all these changes, the
source of which emanated from the royal will, was that
Monsieur, instead of being the second person in the king-
dom, had, in reality, become the third. And it was now
far worse than in the time when De Guiche's guitars were
heard in madame's apartments; for then, at least. Monsieur
had the satisfaction of frightening those who annoyed him.
Since the departure, however, of the enemy, who had been
driven away by means of his alliance with the king, Mon-
sieur had to submit to a burden heavier, but in a very
different sense, to his former one. Every evening madame
returned home quite exhausted. Horse-riding, bathing in
the Seine, spectacles, dinners under the leafy covert of the
trees, balls on the banks of the grand canal, concerts, etc.,
etc.; all this would have been suflicient to have killed, not
a slight and delicate woman, but the strongest porter in the
chateau. It is perfectly true that, with regard to dancing,
concerts, and promenades, and such matters, a woman is
far stronger than the most robust porter of the chateau.
But, however great a woman's strength may be, there is a
limit to it, and she cannot hold out long under such a
system. As for Monsieur, he had not even the satisfaction
of witnessing madame's abdication of her royalty in the
evening, for she lived in the royal pavilion Avith the young
queen and the queen-mother. As a matter of course, the
Chevalier de Lorraine did not quit Monsieur, and did not
fail to distill his drops of gall into every wound the latter
received. The result was, that Monsieur — Avho had at first
been in the highest spirits, and completely restored since
De Guiche's departure — subsided into his melancholy state
three days after the court was installed at Fontainebleau.
It happened, however, that one day, about two o'clock in
the afternoon, Monsieur, who had risen late, and had be-
stowed upon his toilet more than his usual attention, it
happened, we repeat, that Monsieur, who had not heard of
any plans having been arranged for the day, formed the pro-
ject of collecting his own court and of carrying madame off

252 TEN TEARS LATER.

with him to Moret, where he posseysed a charming countiy
house. He accordingly went to the queen's pavilion and
was astonished on entering to find none of the royal serv-
ants in attendance. Quite alone, therefore, he entered the
rooms, a door on the left opening to madame's apartment,
the one on the right to the young queen's. In his wife's
apartment Monsieur was informed by a seamstress who was
working there t'hat every one had left at eleven o'clock, for
the purpose of bathing in the Seine, that a grand fete was
to be made of the expedition, that all the carriages had
been placed at the park gates, and that they had all set out
more than an hour ago.

"Very good," said Monsieur, "the idea is a good one;
the heat is very oppressive, and I have no objection to
bathe, too."

He summoned his servants, but no one came. He sum-
moned those in attendance on madame, but everybody had
gone out. He then went to the stables, where he was in-
formed by a groom that there were no carriages of any
description. He then desired that a couple of horses should
be saddled, one for himself, and the other for his valet.
The groom told him that all the horses had been sent away.
Monsieur, pale with anger again descended toward the queen's
apartments, and penetrated as far as Anne of Austria's
oratory, where he perceived, through the half -opened tapes-
try hangings, his young and beautiful sister on her knees
before the queen-mother, who appeared weeping bitterly.
He had not been either seen or heard. He cautiously ap-
proached the opening, and listened, the sight of so much
grief having aroused his curiosity. Not only was the young
queen weeping, but she was complaining also.

"Yes," she said, "the king neglects me, the king devotes
himself to pleasures and amusements only in which I have
no share."

"Patience, patience, my daughter," said Anne of Austria,
in Spanish; and then, also in Spanish, added some words of
advice, which Monsieur did not understand. The queen
replied by accusations, mingled with sighs and sobs, among
which Monsieur often distinguished the word lanos, which
Maria Theresa accentuated with spiteful anger.

"The baths," said Monsieur to himself, "it seems it is
the baths that have put her out."

And he endeavored to put together the disconnected
phrases which he had been able to understand. It was
easy to guess that the queen complained bitterly, and that.

TEN YEARS LATER. 253

if Anne of Austria did not console her, she at least endeav-
ored to do so. Monsieur was afraid to be detected listening
at the door, and he therefore made up his mind to cough;
the two queens turned round at the sound, and Monsieur
entered. At the sight of the prince the young queen rose
precipitately, and dried her tears. Monsieur, however,
knew the people he had to deal with too well, and was
naturally too polite to remain silent, and he accordingly
saluted them. The queen-mother smiled pleasantly at
him, saying:

"What do you want, Philip?"

"I? — nothing," stammered Monsieur. "I was looking
for "

"Whom?"

"I was looking for madame."

"Madame is at the baths."

"And the king?" said Monsieur, in a tone which made
the queen tremble.

"The king also, and the whole court as well," replied
Anne of Austria.

"Except you, madame," said Monsieur.

"Oh, I!" said the young queen, "I seem to terrify all
those who amuse themselves."

Anne of Austria made a sign to her daughter-in-law, who
withdrew, weeping.

Monsieur's brows contracted, as he remarked aloud:

"What a cheerless house! What do you think of it,
mother?"

"Why, no; everybody here is pleasure-hunting."

"Yes, indeed, that is the very thing that makes those
dull who do not care for pleasure."

"In what a tone you say that, Philip!"

"Upon my word, madame, I sj^eak as I think."

"Explain yourself. What is the matter?"

"Ask my sister-in-law, rather, who just now was detail-
ing all her grievances to you."

"Her grievances; what "

"Yes, 1 was listening; accidentally, I confess, but still I
listened — so that I heard only too well my sister complain
of those famous baths of madame "

"What folly!"

"No, no, no; people are not always foolish when they
weep. The queen said banos, which means baths."

"I repeat, Philip," said Anne of Austria, "that your
sister is most childishly jealous."

254 TEJf YEARS LATER.

"In that case, madame," replied the prince, "I, too,
must, with great humility, accuse myself of possessing the
same defect as she has."

"You also, Philip?"

"Certainly."

"Are you really Jealous of these baths?"

"And why not^ madame, when the king goes to the baths
with my wife, and does not take the queen? Why not,
when madame goes to the baths with the king, and does not
do me the honor to tell me of it? And you require my
sister-in-law to be satisfied, and require me to be satisfied,
too."

"You are raving, my dear Philip," said Anne of Austria;
"you have driven the Duke of Buckingham away; you have
been the cause of Monsieur de Guiche's exile; do you now
wish to send the king away from Fontainebleau?"

"I do not pretend to anything of the kind, madame,"
said Monsieur bitterly; "but, at least, I can withdraw, and
I shall do so."

"Jealous of the king — jealous of your brother?"

"Yes, madame, I am Jealous of the king — of my own
brother, and very Jealous, too."

"Eeally, Monsieur," exclaimed Anne of Austria, affect-
ing to be indignant and angry, "I begin to believe you are
mad, and a sworn enemy to my repose. I therefore abandon
the place to you, for I have no means of defending myself
against such wild conceptions."

She arose and left Monsieur a prey to the most extrava-
gant transport of passion. He remained for a moment com-
pletely bewildered; then, recovering himself, he again weiit
to the stables, found the groom, once more asked him for a
carriage or a horse, and upon his replying that there was
neither the one nor the other. Monsieur snatched a long
whip from the hand of a stable-boy, and began to pursue
the poor devil of a groom all round the servants' court-
yard, whipping him all the while, in spite of his cries and
his excuses; then, quite out of breath, covered with per-
spiration, and trembling in every limb, he returned to his
own apartments, broke in pieces some beautiful specimens
of porcelain, and then got into bed, booted and spurred as
he was, crying out for some one to come to him.

TEN YEAES LATER. 255

CHAPTEK XXXVI.

THE BATH.

At Valvins, beneath the impenetrable shade of flowering
osiers and willows, which, as they bent down their green heads,
dipped the extremities of their branches in the blue waters,
a long and flat-bottomed boat, with ladders covered with long
blue curtains, served as a refuge for the bathing Dianas, who,
as they left the water, were watched by twenty plumed Acteons,
who, eagerly, and full of desire, galloped up and down the
moss-grown and perfumed banks of the river. But Diana
herself, even the chaste Diana, clothed in her long chlamys,
was less beautiful — less impenetrable, than madame, as young
and beautiful as that goddess herself. For, notwithstanding
the fine tunic of the huntress, her romid and delicate knee
can be seen; and notwithstanding the sonorous quiver, her
brown shoulders can be detected; whereas, in madame's case,
a long white veil enveloped her, wrapping her round and
round a hundred times, as she resigned herself into the hands
of her female attendants, and thus was rendered inaccessible
to the most indiscreet, as well as to the most penetrating gaze.
When she ascended the ladder the poets who were present —
and all were poets when madame was the subject of discussion
— the twenty poets who were galloping about stopped, and
with one voice exclaimed that pearls, and not drops of water,
were falling from her person, to be lost again in the happy
river. The king, the center of these eftusions, and of this re-
spectful homage, imposed silence upon those expatiators, for
whom it seemed impossible to exhaust their raptures, and
he rode away from fear of offending, even under the silken
curtains, the modesty of the woman and the dignity of the
princess. A great blank thereupon ensued in the scene, and a
perfect silence in the boat. From the movements on board
— from the flutterings and agitations of the curtains — the
goings to and fro of the female attendants engaged in their
duties could be guessed.

The king smilingly listened to the conversation of the
courtiers around him, but it could easily be perceived that
he gave but little, if any, attention to their remarks. In
fact, hardly had the sound of the rings drawn along the
curtain-rods announced that madame was dressed, and that
the goddess was about to make her appearance, than the
king, returning to his former post immediately, and run-

356 TEN YEARS LATER.

niug quite close to the river-bank, gave the signal for all
those to approach Avhose attendance or pleasure summoned
them to madame's side. The pages hurried forward, con-
ducting the led horses; the carriages, which had remained
sheltered under the trees, advanced toward the teut, fol-
lowed by a crowd of servants, bearers, and female attendants,
who, while their masters had been bathing, had mutually
exchanged their own observations, their critical remarks,
and the discussion of matters personal to themselves — the
fugitive journal of that period, of which no record is pre-
served, not even by the waters, the mirror of individuals,
echoes of conversations, witnesses whom Heaven has hur-
ried into immensity, as he has hurried the actors themselves
into eternity. A crowd of people upon the banks of the
river, without reckoning the groups of peasants drawn
together by their anxiety to see the king and the princess,
was for many minutes the most disorderly, but the most
agreeable, pellmell imaginable. The king dismounted
from his horse, a movement which was imitated by all the
courtiers, and offered his hand to madame, whose rich
riding-habit displayed her fine figure, which was set oil to
great advantage by that garment, made of fine woolen cloth
embroidered with silver. Her hair, still damp and blacker
than jet, hung in heavy masses upon her white and delicate
neck. Joy and health sparkled in her beautiful eyes; com-
posed, and yet full of energy, she inhaled the air in deep
draughts, under the embroidered parasol, which was borne
by one of her pages. Nothing could be more charming,
more graceful, more poetical, than these two figures buried
under the rose-colored shade of the parasol; the king, whose
white teeth were displayed in continual smiles, and madame,
whose black eyes sparkled like two carbuncles in the glitter-
ing reflection of the changing hues of the silk. _ When
madame had approached her horse, a magnificent animal of
Andalusian breed, of spotless white, somewhat heavy, per-
haps, but with a spirited and splendid head, in which the
mixture so happily combined of Arabian and Spanish blood
could be readily traced, and whose long tail swept the
ground; and as the princess affected difficulty in mounting,
the king took her in his arms in such a manner that ma-
dame's arm was clasped like a circlet of fire around the
king's neck; Louis, as he withdrew, involuntarily touched
with his lips the arm, which was not withheld, and the
princess, having thanked her royal equerry, every one
sprang to his saddle at the same moment. The king and

TEN" TEARS LATER. 257

madame drew aside to allow the carriages, the outriders,
and runners to pass by. A fair proportion of the cavaliers,
released from the restraint which etiquette had imposed
upon them, gave the rein to their horses, and darted after
the carriages which bore the maids of honor, as blooming
as so many Oreades around Diana, and the whirlwind,
laughing, chattering, and noisy, passed onward.

The king and madame, however, kept their horses in
hand at a foot-pace. Behind his majesty and his sister-in-
law, certain of the courtiers — those, at least, who were
seriously disposed, or were anxious to be within reach, or
under the eyes of the king — followed at a respectful dis-
tance, restraining their impatient horses, regulating their
pace by that of the king and madame, and abandoned them-
selves to all the delight and gratification which is to be
found in the conversation of clever people, who can, with
perfect courtesy, make a thousand of the most atrocious
remarks about their neighbors. In their stifled laughter,
and in the little reticences of their sardonic humor. Mon-
sieur, the poor absentee, was not spared. But they pitied,
and bewailed greatly, the fate of De Guiche; and it must
be confessed that their compassion, as far as he was con-
cerned, was not misplaced. The king and madame having
breathed their horses, and repeated a hundred times over
such remarks as the courtiers, who made them talk, had
suggested to them, set off at a hand-gallop, and the shady
coverts of the forest resounded to the heavy footfall of the
mounted party. To the conversations beneath the shade of
trees — to the remarks made in the shape of confidential
commuhications, and to the observations which had been
mysteriously exchanged, succeeded the noisiest bursts of
laughter; from the very outriders to royalty itself, merri-
ment seemed to spread. Every one began to laugh and to
cry out. The magpies and the jays flew away, uttering
their guttural cries, beneath the waving avenues of the
oaks; the cuckoo stayed his monotonous cry in the recesses
of the forest; the chaffinch and tomtit flew away in clouds;
while the terrified fawn, and other deer, bounded forward
from the midst of the thickets. This crowd, spreading
wildly joy, confusion, and light wherever it passed, Avas
preceded, it may be said, to the chateau by its own clamor.
As the king and madame entered the village they were
both received by the general acclamations of the croAvd.
Madame hastened to look for Monsieur, for she instinc-
tively understood that he had been far too long kept from

358 TEN TEARS LATER.

sharing in this joy. The king went to rejoin the queens;
he knew he owed them — one especially — a compensation for
his long absence. But madame was not admitted to Mon-
sieur's apartments, and she was informed that Monsieur
was asleep. The king, instead of being met by Maria
Theresa ■'miling, as usual with her, found Anne of Austria
in the gallery watching for his return, who advanced to
meet him, and taking him by the hand, led him to her own
apartment. No one ever knew what was the nature of the
conversation which took place between them, or rather,
what it was that the queen-mother had said to Louis XIV. ;
but it certainly might easily be guessed from the annoyed
expression of the king's face as he left her after the inter-
view.

But we, whose mission it is to interpret all things, as it
is also to communicate our interpretations to our readers —
we should fail in our duty if we were to leave them in
ignorance of the result of this interview. It will be found
sufficiently detailed, at least we hope so, in the following
chapter.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE BUTTERFLY-CHASE.

The king, on retiring to his apartments to give some direc-
tions and to arrange his ideas, found on his toilet-glass a
small note, the handwriting of which seemed disguised.
He opened it and read:

"Come quickly; I have a thousand things to say to you."

The king and madame had not been separated a suf-
ficiently long time for these thousand things to be the
result of the three thousand which they had been saying to
each other during the route which separated Valvins from
Fontainebleau. The confused and hurried character of the
note gave the king a great deal to reflect upon. He occu-
pied himself but slightly with his toilet, and set oft' to pay
his visit to madame. The princess, who did not wish to
have the appearance of expecting him, had gone into the
gardens with the ladies of her suite. When the king was
informed that madame had left her apartments and had
gone for a walk in the gardens, he collected all the gentle-

TEN YEARS LATER. 259

men he could find, and invited them to follow him. He
found madame engaged in chasing butterflies, on a large
lawn bordered with heliotrope and flowering broom. She
was looking on as the most adventurous and youngest of
her ladies ran to and fro, and with her back turned to a
high hedge, very impatiently awaited the arrival of the
king, to whom she had given the rendezvous. The sound
of many feet upon the gravel-walk made her turn round.
Louis XIV. was bareheaded; he had struck down with his
cane a peacock-butterfly, which M. de St. Aignan had
picked up from the gr^ound, quite stunned.

"You see, madame," said the king, as he approached her,
"that I, too, am hunting for you;" and then, turning to-
ward those who had accompanied him, said, "Gentlemen,
see if each of you cannot obtain as much for these ladies;"
a remark which was a signal for all to retire.

And thereupon a curious spectacle might be observed;
old and corpulent courtiers were seen running after butter-
flies, losing their hats as they ran, and with their raised
canes cutting down the myrtles and the furze, as they
would have done the Spaniards.

The king offered madame his arm, and they both selected,
as the center of observation, a bench with a roofing of moss,
a kind of hut roughly designed by the modest genius of one
of the gardeners who had inaugurated the picturesque and
fanciful amid the formal style of gardening of that period.
This sheltered retreat, covered with nasturtiums and climb-
ing roses, screened a bench, as it were, so that the specta-
tors, insulated in the middle of the lawn, saw and were seen
on every side, but could not be heard, without perceiving
those who might approach for the purpose of listening.
Seated thus, the king made a sign of encouragement to
those who were running about; and then, as if he were
engaged with madame in a dissertation upon the butterfly,
which he had thrust through with a gold pin and fastened
on his hat, said to her:

"How admirably we are placed here for conversation."

"Yes, sire, for I wished to be heard by you alone, and yet
to be seen by every one."

"And I also," said Louis.

"My note surprised you?"

"Terrified me, rather. But what I have to tell you is
more important."

"It cannot be, sire. Do you know that Monsieur refuses
to see me?"

260 TEN YEAES LATER.

"Why SO?"

"Can yoii not guess why?"

*'Ah! madame, in that case we have both the same thing
to say to each other."

"What has happened to you, then?"

"You wish me to begin?"

"Yes, for I have told you all."

"Well, then, as soon as I returned, I found my mother
waiting for me, and she led me away to her own apart-
ments."

"The queen-mother?" said madame, with some anxiety;
"the matter is serious, then."

"Indeed it is, for she told me — but, in the first place
allow me to preface what I have to say with one remark.
Has Monsieur ever spoken to you about me?"

"Often."

"Has he ever spoken to you about his jealousy?"

"More frequently still/'

"Of his jealousy of me?"

"Fo; but of the Duke of Buckingham and De Guiche."

"Well, madame. Monsieur's present idea is a jealousy of
myself."

"Eeallyl" replied the princess, smiling archly.

"And it really seems to me," continued the king, "that
we have never given any ground "

"Never! at least, I have not. But who told you that
Monsieur was jealous?"

"My mother represented to me that Monsieur entered
her apartments like a madman, that he had uttered a thou-
sand complaints against you, and — forgive me for saying it
— against your coquetry. It appears that Monsieur indulges
in injustice, too."

"You are very kind, sire."

"xvly mother reassured him; but he pretended that people
reassure him too often, and that he had had quite enough
of it."

"Would it not be better for him not to make himself
uneasy in any way?"

"The very thing I said."

"Confess, sire, tiiat the world is very wicked. Is it pos-
sible that a brother and sister cannot converse together, or
take pleasure in each other's society, without giving rise to
remarks and suspicions? For, indeed, sire, we are doing no
harm, and have no intention of doing any."

And she looked at the king with that proud and provok-

TEN YEARS LATER. 261

ing glance which kindles desire in the coldest and wisest of
men.

"No!" sighed the king; "that is true."

"You know very well, sire, that if it were to continue, I
should be obliged to make a disturbance. Do you decide
upon our conduct, and say whether it has, or has not, been
perfectly correct."

"Oh, certainly, perfectly correct."

"Often alone together — for we delight in the same things
— we might possibly be led into error, but have we done so?
I regard you as a brother, and nothing more."

The king frowned. She continued:

"Your hand, which often meets my own, does not excite
in me that agitation and emotion which is the case with
those who love each other, for instance "

"Enough," said the king, "enough, I entreat you. You
have no pity — you are killing me."

"What is the matter?"

"In fact, then, you distinctly say you experience nothing
when near me."

"Oh, sire I don't say that; my affection "

"Enough, Henrietta, I again entreat you. If you believe
me to be marble, as you are, undeceive yourself."

"I do not understand you, f'ire."

"Very well," sighed the king, casting down his eyes.
"And so our meetings, the pressure of each other's hands,
the looks we have exchanged — Yes, yes; you are right,
and I understand your meaning;" and he buried his face in
his hands.

"Take care, sire, ' said madame hurriedly, "Monsieur de
St. Aignan is looking pt you."

"Of course," said Louis angrily; "never even the shadow
of liberty! never any sincerity in my intercourse with any
one! I imagine I have found a friend, who is nothing but
a spy; a dearer friend, who is only a — sister!"

Madame was silent, and cast down her eyes.

"My husband is jealous," she murmured, in a tone of
which nothing could equal its sweetness and its charm.

"You are right!" exclaimed the king suddenly.

"You see," she said, looking at him in a manner that set
his heart on fire, "you are free, you are not suspected, the
peace of your house is not disturbed."

"Alas!" said the king, "as yet you know nothing, for
the queen is jealous."

"Maria Theresa!"

362 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Perfectly mad with jealousy! Monsieur's Jealousy arises
from hers; she was weeping and complaining to my mother,
and was reproaching us for those bathing-parties, which
have made me so happy."

"And me, too," answered madame, by a look.

"When, suddenly," continued the king, "Monsieur, who
was listening, heard the word lanos, which the queen pro-
nounced with some degree of bitterness, that awakened his
attention; he entered the room, looking quite wild, broke
into the conversation, and began to quarrel with my mother
so bitterly that she was obliged to leave him; so that, while
you have a jealous husband to deal with, I shall have per-
petually present before me a specter of jealousy with swollen
eyes, a cadaverous face, and sinister looks."

"Poor king!" murmured madame, as she lightly touched
the king's hand. He retained her hand in his, and in order
to press it without exciting suspicion in the spectators, who
were not so much taken up with the butterflies that they
could not occupy themselves about other matters, and who
perceived clearly enough that there was some mystery in the
king's and madame's conversation, Louis placed the dying
butterfly before his sister-in-law, and both bent over it as if
to count the thousand eyes of its wings, or the particles of
golden dust which covered it. Neither of them spoke;
however, their hair mingled, their breath united, and their
hands feverishly throbbed in each other's grasp. Fiva
minutes passed by in this manner.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

WHAT WAS CAUGHT IN THE HAND AFTER THE BUTTERFLIES.

The two young people remained for a moment with their
heads bent down, bowed, as it were, beneath the double
thought of the love which was springing up in their hearts,
and which gives birth to so many happy fancies in the
imaginations of twenty years of age. Mme. Henrietta gave
a side-glance from time to time at the king. Hers was one
of those finely organized natures capable of looking in-
wardly at itself as well as others at the same moment. She
perceived Love lying at the bottom of Louis' heart, as a
skillful diver sees a pearl at the bottom of the sea. She
knew Louis was hesitating, if not in doubt, and that his
indolent or timid heart required aid and encouragement.

TEX YEARS LATER. 263

"Consequently?" she said interrogatively, breaking the
silence.

"What do you mean?" inquired Louis, after a moment's
pause.

"I mean that I shall be obliged to return to the resolu-
tion I had formed."

"To what resolution?"

"To that which I have already submitted to your
majesty."

"When?"

"On the very day we had a certain explanation about
Monsieur's jealousies."

"What did you say to me then?" inquired Louis, with
some anxiety.

"Do you not remember, sire?"

"Alas! if it be another cause of unhappiness, I shall
recollect it soon enough."

"A cause of unhappiness for myself alone, sire," replied
Mme. Henrietta; "but as it is necessary, I must submit to
it."

"At least, tell me what it is," said the king.

"Absence."

"Still that unkind resolve?"

"Believe me, sire, I have not formed it without a violent
struggle with myself; it is absolutely necessary I should
return to England."

"Never, never will I permit you to leave France!" ex-
claimed the king.

"And yet, sire," said madame, affecting a gentle yet
sorrowful determination, "nothing is more urgently neces-
sary; nay, more than that, I am persuaded it is your
mother's desire I should do so."

"Desire!" exclaimed the king; "that is a very strange
expression to use to me."

"Still," replied Mme. Henrietta smilingly, "are you not
happy in submitting to the wishes of so good a mother?"

"Enough, I implore you; you read my very soul."

"I?"

"Yes; for you speak of your departure with tranquillity."

"I was not born for happiness, sire," replied the princess
dejectedly; "and I acquired, in very early life, the habit of
seeing my dearest thoughts disappointed."

"Do you speak truly?" said the king. "Would your
departure gainsay any one of your cherished thoughts?"

"If I were to say 'Yes,' would you begin to take your
misfortune patiently?"

264 TEN YEARS LATER.

**How cruel you are!"

''Take care, sire; some one is coming."

The king looked all round him, and said:

"No, there is no one," and then continued: ''Come,
Henrietta, instead of trying to contend against Monsieur's
jealousy by a departure which would kill me — " Henrietta
slightly shrugged her shoulders like a woman unconvinced
— "yes," repeated Louis, "which would kill me, I say —
instead of fixing your mind on this departure, does not
your imagination — or, rather, does not your heart — suggest
some expedient?"

"What is it you wish my heart to suggest?"

"Tell me, how can one prove to another that it is wrong
to be jealous?"

"In the first place, sire, by giving no motive for jealousy;
in other words, in loving no one but the one in question."

"Oh! I expected better than that."

"What did you expect?"

"That you would simply tell me that jealous people are
pacified by concealing the affection which is entertained for
the object of their jealousy."

"Dissimulation is difficult, sire."

"Yet it is only by means of conquering difficulties that
any happiness is attained. As far as I am concerned, I
swear I will give the lie to those who are jealous of me by
pretending to treat you like any other woman,"

"A bad, as well as an unsafe, means," said the young
princess, shaking her pretty head.

"You seem to think everything bad, dear Henrietta,"
said Louis discontentedly. "You destroy everything I
propose. Suggest, at least, something else in its stead.
Come, try and think. I trust implicitly to a woman's in-
vention. Do you invent in your turn."

"Well, sire, I have hit upon something. Will you listen
to it?"

"Can you ask me? You speak of a matter of life or
death to me, and then ask if I will listen."

"Well,. I judge of it by my own case. If my husband in-
tended to put me on theVrong scent with regard to another
woman, one thing would reassure me more than anything
else."

"What would that be?"

"In the first place, to see that he never took any notice of
the woman in question."

"Exactly, That is precisely what I said just now."

TEN" YEARS LATEE. 265

"Very well; but in order to be perfectly reassured on the
subject, I should like to see him occupy himself with some
one else."

"Ah! I understand you," replied Louis, smiling. "But
confess, dear Henrietta, if the means is at least ingenious,
it is hardly charitable."

"Why so?"

"In curing the dread of a wound in a jealous person's
mind, you inflict one upon the heart. His fear ceases, it is
true; but the evil still exists; and that seems to me to be
far worse."

"Agreed; but he does not detect, he does not suspect the
real enemy; he does no prejudice to love itself; he concen-
trates all his strength on the side where his strength will do
no injury to anything or any one. In a word, sire, my
plan, which I confess I am surprised to find you dispute, is
mischievous to jealous people, it is true; but to lovers it is
full of advantage. Besides, let me ask, sire, who, except
yourself, has ever thought of pitying jealous people? Are
they not a melancholy set of creatures, always equally un-
happy, whether with or without a cause? You may remove
that cause, but you do not remove their sufferings. It is a
disease which lies in the imagination, and, like all imaginary
disorders, it is incurable. By the bye, I remember an
aphorism upon this subject, of poor Dr. Dawley, a clever
and amusing man, who, had it not been for my brother,
who could not do without him, I should have with me now.
He used to say, 'Whenever you are likely to suffer from two
affections, choose that which will give you the least trouble,
and I will allow you to retain it; for it is positive,' he said,
'that that very one is of the greatest service to me, in order
to enable me to get rid of the other.' "

"Well and judiciously remarked, dear Henrietta," replied
the king, smiling.

"Oh! we have some clever people in London, sire."

"And those clever people produce adorable pupils. I
will grant this Daley, Darley, Dawley, or whatever you call
him, a pension for his aphorism; but I entreat you, Hen-
rietta, to begin by choosing the least of your evils. You do
not answer — you smile. I guess that the least of your evils
is your stay in France. I will allow you to retain this mis-
fortune; and, in order to begin with the cure of the other,
I will this very day begin to look out for a subject which
shall divert the attention of the jealous members of either
sex who persecute us both.^'
DuiiAS — Vol. XV. 12

266 TEN TEAES LATER.

"Hush! this time some one is really coming/' said ma-
dame; and she stooped down to gather a flower from the
thick grass at her feet. Some one, in fact, was approach-
ing; for suddenly a bevy of young girls ran down from the
top of the little hillock, following the cavaliers — the cause
of this irruption being a magnificent hawk-moth, with wings
like rose leaves. The prey in question had fallen into the
net of Mile, de Tonnay-Charente, who displayed it with
some pride to her less successful rivals. The queen of the
chase had seated herself some twenty paces from the bank
on which Louis and Mme. Henrietta were reclining, and
leaned her back against a magnificent oak-tree intwined
with ivy, and stuck the butterfly on the long cane she car-
ried in her hand. Mile, de Tonney-Charente was very-
beautiful, and the gentlemen, accordingly, deserted her
companions, and, under the pretext of complimenting her
upon her success, pressed in a circle around her. The king
and the princess looked gloomily at this scene, as spectators
of maturer age look on at the games of little children.

"They seem to be amusing themselves there," said the
king.

"Greatly, sire; I have always found that people are
amused wherever youth and beauty are to be found."

"What do you think of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente,
Henrietta?" inquired the king.

"I think she is rather fair in complexion," replied ma-
dame,, fixing in a moment upon the only fault it was possi-
ble to find in the almost perfect beauty of the future Mme.
de Montespan.

"Eather fair, yes; but beautiful, I think, in spite of
that."

"Is that your opinion, sire?"

"Yes, really."

"Very well; and it is mine, too."

"And she seems to be much sought after, too."

"Oh, that is a matter of course. Lovers flutter from one
to another. If we had hunted for lovers instead of butter-
flies, you can see, from those who surround her, what suc-
cessful sport we should have had."

"Tell me, Henrietta, what would be said if the king
were to make himself one of those lovers and let his glance
fall in that direction? Would some one else be jealous, in
such a case?"

"Oh, sire. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is a very
efficacious remedy," said madame, with a sigh. "She

TEN YEAES LATER. 267

would cure a jealous man, certainly; but she might possibly
make a woman jealous, too."

"Henrietta," exclaimed Louis, "you fill my heart with joy.
Yes, yes; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is far too beau-
tiful to serve as a cloak."

"A king's cloak ought to be beautiful."

"Do you advise me to do it, then ?" inquired Louis.

"I ! what should I say, sire, except that to give such an ad-
vice would be to supply arms against myself. It would be
folly or pride to advise you to take, for the heroine of an
assumed affection, a woman more beautiful than the one for
whom you pretend to feel real regard."

The king tried to take madame's hand in his own ; his eyes
sought hers; and then he murmured a few words so full of
tenderness, but pronounced in so low a tone, that the historian,
who ought to hear everything, could not hear them. Then,
speaking aloud, he said :

"Do you, yourself, choose for me the one who is to cure our
jealous friend. To her, then, all my devotion, all my atten-
tion, all the time that I can spare from my occupations, shall
be devoted. For her shall be the flower that I may pluck for
you, the fond thoughts with which you have inspired me. To-
ward her, the glance that I dare not bestow upon you, and
which ought to be able to arouse you from your indifference.
But be careful in your selection, lest, in offering her the rose
which I may have plucked I should find myself conquered by
yourself; and lest my looks, my hand, my lips, should not
turn immediately toward you, even were the whole world to
guess my secret."

While these words escaped from the king's lips, in a stream
of wild affection, madame blushed, breathless, happy, proud,
almost intoxicated with delight. She could find nothing to
say in reply ; her pride and her thirst for homage were satisfied.

"I shall fail," she said, raising her beautiful black eyes,
'Tjut not as you beg me, for all this incense which you wish
to burn on the altar of another divinity. Ah ! sire, I, too,
shall be jealous of it, and want it to be restored to me, and
would not wish that a particle of it should be lost in the way.
Therefore, sire, with your royal permission, I will choose one
who shall appear to me the least likely to distract your atten-
tion, and who will leave my image pure and unsullied in your
heart."

"Happily for me," said the king, "your heart is not hard

268 TEN YEARS LATER.

and unfeeling. If it were so, I should be alarmed at the
tlu-eat you hold out; our precautions have been taken on this
point, and around you, as around myself, it would be diffi-
cult to meet with a disagreeable-looking face,"

While the king was speaking, madanie had risen from her
seat, looked around the greensward, and after a careful and
silent examination, she called the king to her side, and said:

"See yonder, sire, upon the declivity of that little hill, near
that group of Guelder roses, that beautiful girl walking alone,
her head down, her arms hanging by her side, with her eyes
fixed upon the flowers, which she crushes beneath her feet, like
one who is lost in thought."

"Mademoiselle de la Valliere, do you mean ?"

"Yes."

"Oh !"

"Will she not suit ycu, sire?"

"Why, look how thin the poor child is. She has hardly
any flesh upon her bones."

"Nay; am I stout, then?"

"She is so melancholy."

"The greater contrast to myself, who am accused of being
too lively."

"She is lame."

"Do you think so?"

"No doubt of it. Look; she has allowed every one to
pass by her, from the fear of her defect being remarked."

"Well, she will not run so fast as Daphne, and will not
be able to escape Apollo."

"Henrietta," said the king, out of temper, "of all your
maids of honor, you have really selected for me the one most
full of defects."

"Still she is one of my maids of honor."

"Of course ; but what do you mean ?"

"I mean that, in order to visit this new divinity, you will
not be able to do so without paying a visit to my apartments,
and that, as propriety will forbid your conversing with her
in private, you will be compelled to see her in my circle, to
speak to me while speaking to her. I mean, in fact, that
those who may be jealous will be wrong if they suppose you
come to my apartments for my sake, since you will come
there for Mademoiselle de la Valliere."

"Who happens to be lame."

"Hardlv that."

TEN YEARS LATEB. 269

"Who never opens her lips."

"But who, when she does open them, displays a beautiful
set of teeth."

"Who may serve as a model for an osteologist."

"Your favor will change her appearance."

"Henrietta !"

"At all events, you have allowed me to be the mistress."

"Alas ! yes."

"Well, my choice is made ; I impose her upon you, and you
must submit."

"Oh! I would accept one of the furies, if you were to in-
sist upon it."

"La Valliere is as gentle as a lamb; do not fear she will
ever contradict you when you tell her you love her."

"You are not afraid that I shall say too much to her?"

"It would be for my sake."

"The treaty is agreed to, then ?"

"And signed."

"You will continue to show me the friendship of a brother,
the attention of a brother, the gallantry of a monarch, will you
not?"

"I will preserve for you a heart which has already become
accustomed to beat only at your command."

"Very well; do you not see how we have guaranteed the
future b}^ this means ?"

"I hope so."

"Will your mother cease to regard me as an enemy?"

"Yes."

'^ill Maria Theresa leave off speaking in Spanish before
Monsieur, who has a horror of conversation held in foreign
languages, because he always thinks he is being ill-spoken of ?
and, lastly," continued the princess, "will people persist in
attributing a wrongful affection to the king, when the truth is,
we can be nothing to each other, except such as may arise from
sympathy, free f^-om all mental reservation?"

"Yes, yes," s.^ia the king hesitatingly. "But yet other
things may still be said of us."

"What can be said, sire? Shall we never be left in tran-
quillity?"

"People will say I am deficient in taste; but what is my
self-respect in comparison with your tranquillity?"

"In comparison with my honor, sire, and that of our

270 TEN TEARS LATER.

family, you mean. Besides, believe me, do not be so hastily
prejudiced against La Valliere. She is lame, it is true, but
she is not deficient in good sense. Moreover, all that the
king touches is converted into gold."

"Well, madame, be assured of one tiring, namely, that I
am still grateful to you; you might even yet make me pay
dearer for your stay in France."

"Sire, some one approaches."

"Well !"

"One last word."

"Say it."

"You are prudent and judicious, sire; but in the present
instance you will be obliged to summon to your aid all your
prudence and all your judgment."

"Oh !" exclaimed Louis, laughing, "from this very even-
ing I shall begin to act my part, and you shall see whether
I am not quite fit to represent the character of a tender
swain. After luncheon there will be a promenade in the
forest, and then there is supper and the ballet at ten o'clock."

"I know it."

"The ardor of my passion shall blaze more brilliantly than
the fireworks, shall shine more steadily than the lamps of our
friend Colbert; it shall shine so dazzlingly that the queens
and Monsieur shall be almost blinded by it."

"Take care, sire, take care."

"In Heaven's name, what have I done, then?"

"I shall begin to recall the compliments I paid you just
now. You prudent ! you wise, did I say ? why, you begin by
the most reckless inconsistencies ! Can a passion be kindled
in this manner, like a torch, in a moment? Can a monarch,
such as you are, without any preparation, fall at the feet of a
girl like La Valliere?"

"Ah ! Henrietta, now I understand you. We have not yet
begun the campaign, and you are plundering me already."

"No; I am only recalling you to common-sense ideas.
Let your passion be kindled gradually, instead of allowing
it to burst forth so suddenly. Jove's thunders and light-
nings are heard and seen before the palace is set on fire.
Everything has its commencement. If you are so easily ex-
cited, no one will believe you are really captivated, and every
one will think you out of your senses — unless, indeed, the truth
itself be not guessed. People are not always so foolish as
they seem."

TEN" YEAKS LATER. 271

The king was obliged to admit that madame was an angel
for sense, and the very reverse for cleverness. He bowed,
and said:

"Agreed, madame; I will think over my plan of attack.
Great military men — my cousin De Conde, for instance —
grow pale in meditation upon their strategical plans before
they move one of the pawns, which people call armies; I
therefore wish to draw up a complete plan of attack, for
you know that the tender passion is subdivided in a variety
of ways. Well, then, I shall stop at the village of Little
Attentions, at the hamlet of Love Letters, before I follow
the road of Visible Affection; the way is clear enough, you
know, and poor Madame de Scudery would never forgive
me for passing through a halting-place without stopping."

"Ah! now we have returned to our proper senses, shall
we say adieu, sire?"

"Alas! it must be so, for, see, we are interrupted."

"Yes, indeed," said Mme. Henrietta; "they are bringing
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente and her sphinx butterfly
in grand procession this way."

"It is perfectly well understood, then, that this evening,
during the promenade, I am to make my escape into the
forest, and find La Valliere without you."

"I will take care to send her away."

"Very well; I will speak to her when she is with her
companions, and I" will then discharge my first arrow at
her."

"Be skillful," said madame, laughing, "and do not miss
the heart."

And the princess took leave of the king, and went for-
ward to meet the merry troop, which was advancing with
much ceremony, and a great many pretended fiourishes of
trumpets, which they imitated with their mouths.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE BALLET OF THE SEASON.

At the conclusion of the banquet, which had been served
at five o'clock, the king entered his cabinet, where his
tailors were awaiting him, for the jjurpose of trying on the
celebrated costume representing Spring, which was the re-
sult of so much imagination, and had cost so many efforts

272 TEX YEARS LATER.

of thought to the designers and ornament-workers of the ■
court. As for the ballet itself, every person knew the part
he had to take in it, and how to perform that part. -The
king had resolved to make it a matter of surj)rise. Hardly,
therefore, had he finished his conference, and entered his
own apartment, than he desired his two masters of the
ceremonies, Villeroy and St. Aignan, to be sent for. Both
replied that they only awaited his orders, and that every-
thing was ready to begin, but that it was necessary to insure
fine weather and a favorable night before these orders could
be carried out. The king opened his window; the golden
hues of evening could be seen in the horizon through the
vistas of the wood, and the moon, white as snow, was
already visible in the heavens. Not a ripple could be
noticed on the surface of the green waters; the swans them-
selves, even, reposing with folded wings like ships at anchor,
seemed penetrated by the warmth of the air, the freshness of
the water, and the silence of the beautiful evening. The
king, having observed all these things, and contemplated
the magnificent picture before him, gave the order which
De Villeroy and De St. Aignan awaited; but, with the view
of insuring the execution of this order in a royal manner,
one last question was necessary, and Louis XIV. put it to
the two gentlemen in the following manner:

"Have you any money?"

'"Sire," replied St. Aignan, "we haVe arranged every-
thing with Monsieur Colbert."

"Ah! very well."

"Yes, sire, and Monsieur Colbert said he would wait
upon your majesty as soon as your majesty should manifest
an intention of carrying out the fetes, of which he has
furnished the programme."

"Let him come in, then," said the king; and as if Col-
bert had been listening at the door for the purpose of keep-
ing himself mo courant of the conversation, he entered as
soon as the king had pronounced his name before the two
courtiers.

"Ah! Monsieur Colbert," said the king. "Gentlemen,
to your posts;" whereupon St. Aignan and Villeroy took
their leave. The king seated himself in an easy-chair near
the window, saying:

"The ballet will take place this evening. Monsieur
Colbert."

"In that case, sire, I settle the accounts to-morrow."

"Why so?"

TEN YEAKS LATER. 273

"I promised the trades-people to pay their bills the fol-
lowing day to that on which the ballet should take place."

"Very well, Monsieur Colbert, pay them, since you have
promised to do so."

"Certainly, sire; but I must have money to do that."

"What! have not the four millions, which Monsieur Fou-
quet promised, been sent? I had forgotten to ask you
about it."

"Sire, they were sent at the hour promised."

"Well?"

"Well, sire, the colored lamps, the fireworks, the musi-
cians, and the cooks, have swallowed up four millions in
eight days."

"Entirely?"

"To the last penny. Every time your majesty directed
the banks of the grand canal to be illuminated, as much oil
was consumed as there was water in the basins."

"Well, well. Monsieur Colbert; the fact is, then, you
have no more money?"

"I have no more, sire, but Monsieur Fouquet has," Col-
bert replied, his face darkening with a sinister expression
of pleasure.

"What do you mean?" inquired Louis.

"We have already made Monsieur Fouquet advance six
millions. He has given them with too much grace not to
have others still to give, if they are required, which is the
case at the present moment. It is necessary, therefore,
that he should comply."

The king frowned.

"Monsieur Colbert," said he, accentuating the financier's
name, "that is not the way I understood the matter; T do
not wish to make use, against any of my servants, of a
means of pressure which may oppress him and fetter his
services. In eight days Monsieur Fouquet has furnished
six millions; that is a good sum."

Colbert turned pale.

"And yet," he said, "your majesty did not use this
language some time ago, when the news about- Belle-Isle
arrived, for instance."

"You are right. Monsieur Colbert."

"Nothing, however, has changed since then; on the con-
trary, indeed."

"In my thoughts, monsieur, everything is changed,"

"Does your majesty, then, no longer believe the at-
tempts?"

274 TEN TEAES LATER.

'•My own affairs concern me alone, monsieur; and I have
already told you I transact them myself."

"Then, I perceive," said Colbert, trembling from anger
and from fear, "that I have had the misfortune to fall into
disgrace with your majesty."

"Not at all; you are, on the contrary, most agreeable to
me."

"Yet, sire," said the minister, with a certain affected
bluntness, so successful when it was a question of flattering
Louis' self-esteem, "what use is there in being agreeable
to your majesty, if one can no longer be of any use to you?"

"I reserve your services for a better occasion; and, be-
lieve me, they will only be the better appreciated."

"Your majesty's plan, then, in this affair, is "

"You want money. Monsieur Colbert?"

"Seven hundred thousand francs, sire."

"You will take them from my private treasure." Col-
bert bowed. "And," added Louis, "as it seems a difficult
matter for you, notwithstanding your economy, to defray,
with so limited a sum, the expenses which I intend to incur,
I will at once sign an order for three millions."

The king took a pen and signed an order immediately,
then handed it to Colbert.

"Be satisfied. Monsieur Colbert, the plan I have adopted
is one worthy of a king," said Louis XIV., who pronounced
these words with all the majesty he knew how to assume in
such circumstances; and he dismissed Colbert for the pur-
pose of giving an audience to his tailors.

The order issued by the king was known in the whole of
Fontainebleau; it was already known, too, that the king
was trying on his costume, and that the ballet would be
danced in the evening. The news circulated with the
rapidity of lightning; during its progress it kindled every
variety of coquetry, desire, and wild ambition. At the
same moment, as if by enchantiflent, every one who knew
how to hold a needle, every one who could distinguish a
coat from a pair of trousers, was summoned to the assist-
ance of those who had received invitation. The king had
completed his toilet at nine o'clock; he appeared in an open
carriage decorated with branches of trees and flowers. The
queens had taken their seats upon a magnificent dais, or
platform, erected upon the borders of the lake, in a theater
of wonderful elegance of construction. In the space of five
hours the carpenters had put together all the different parts
connected with the theater; the upholsterers had laid down

TEN" YEARS LATER. 275

the carpets, erected the seats; and, as if at the signal of an
enchanter's wand, a thousand arms, aiding, instead of in-
terfering with one another, had constructed the building on
this spot amid the sound of music; while, at the same time,
other workmen illuminated the theater and the shores of
the lake with an incalculable number of lamps. As the
heavens, set with stars, were perfectly unclouded, as not
even a breath of air could be heard in the woods, and as if
Nature itself had yielded complacently to the king's fancies,
the back of the theater had been left open; so that behind
the foreground of the scenes could be seen as a background
the beautiful sky glittering with stars; the sheet of water,
illumined by the lights which were reflected in it, and the
bluish outline of the grand masses of Avoods, with their
rounded tops. When the king made his appearance the
whole theater was full, and presented to the view one vast
group dazzling with gold and precious stones; in which,
however, at the first glance, no one single face could be
distinguished. By degrees, as the sight became accustomed
to so much brilliancy, the rarest beauties appeared to the
view, as in the evening sky the stars appear one by one to
him who closes his eyes and then opens them again.

The theater represented a grove of trees; a few fawns
lifting up their cloven feet were jumping about; a dyrad
made her appearance on the scene, and was immediately
pursued by them; others gathered round her for her de-
fense, and they quarreled as they danced. Suddenly, for
the purpose of restoring peace and order. Spring, accom-
panied by his whole court, made his appearance. The
Elements, the subaltern powers of mythology, together
with their attributes, precipitated themselves upon the trace
of their gracious sovereign. The Seasons, the allies of
Spring, followed him closely, to form a quadrille, which,
after many words of more or less flattering import, was the
commencement of the dance. The music, hautboys, flutes,
and viols, were descriptive of the rural delights. The king
liad already made his appearance, amid thunders of applause.
He was dressed in a tunic of flowers, which set off his easy
and well-formed figure to advantage. His legs, the best-
shaped at the court, were also displayed to great advantage
in iiesh-colored silken hose, of silk so fine and so transparent
that it seemed almost like flesh itelf. The most beautiful
pale-lilac satin shoes, with bows of flowers and leaves, im-
prisoned his small feet. The bust of the figure was in
harmonious keeping with the base; the waving hair was float-

27G TBN YEAES LATER.

ing on his shoulders, the freshness of his complexion was
enhanced by the brilliancy of his beautiful blue eyes, which
softly kindled all hearts; a mouth with tempting lips,
which deigned to open in smiles. Such was the prince of
the period, who had that evening been justly named "The
King of all the Loves." There was something in his car-
riage which resembled the buoyant movements of an
immortal, and he did not dance so much as seem to soar
along. His entrance had produced, therefore, the most
brilliant effect. Suddenly the Comte de St. Aignan was
observed endeavoring to approach either the king or
madame.

The princess — who was clothed in a long dress, diaphanous
and light as the finest network tissue from the hands of the
skillful Mechlin workers, her knee occasionally revealed
beneath the folds of the tunic, and her little feet incased in
silken shoes — advanced radiant with beauty, accompanied
by her cortege of Baccliantes, and had already reached the
spot which had been assigned to her in the dance. The
applause continued so long that the comte had ample leisure
to join the king.

"What is the matter, St. Aignan?" said Spring.

"Nothing whatever," replied the courtier, as pale as
death; "but your majesty has not thought of the Fruits."

"Yes; it is suppressed,"

"Far from it, sire; your majesty having given no direc-
tions about it, the musicians have retained it."

"How excessively annoying!" said the king. "This
figure cannot be performed, since Monsieur de Guiche is
absent. It must be suppressed."

"Oh, sire, a quarter of an hour's music without any
dancing will produce an effect so chilling as to ruin the suc-
cess of the ballet."

"But, comte, since "

"Oh, sire, that is not the greatest misfortune; for, after
all, the orchestra could still just as well cut it out, if it were
necessary; but "

"But what?"

"Why, Monsieur de Guiche is here."

"Here?" replied the king, frowning, "here? Are you
sure?"

"Yes, sire; and ready-dressed for the ballet."

The king felt himself color deeply, and said:

"You are probably mistaken."

"So little is that the case, sire, that if your majesty will
look to the right you will see that the comte is waiting."

TEN YEARS LATER. 277

Louis turned hastily toward the side, and, in fact, on his
right, brilliant in his character of Autumn, De Guiche
awaited until the king should look at him, in order that he
might address him. To describe the stupefaction of the
king, that of Monsieur, who was moving about restlessly in
his box — to describe also the agitated movement of the
heads in the theater, and the strange emotion of madame
at the sight of her partner — is a task we must leave to more
able hands. The king stood almost gaping with astonish-
ment as he looked at the comte, who, bowing lowly,
approached his majesty with the profoundest respect.

"Sire," he said, "your majesty's most devoted servant ap-
proaches to perform a service on this occasion with similar
zeal to that he has already shown on the field of battle.
Your majesty, in omitting the dance of the Fruits, would
'be losing the most beautiful scene in the ballet. I did not
wish to be the cause of so great a prejudice to your majesty's
elegance, skill, and graceful address; and I have left my
tenants in order to place my services at your majesty's
commands."

Every word fell distinctly, in perfect harmony and elo-
quence, upon Louis XIV. 's ears. Their flattery pleased,
as much as De Guiche's courage had astonished him, and he
simply replied:

"I did not tell you to return, comte."

"Certainly not, sire; but your majesty did not tell me to
remain."

The king perceived that time was passing away, that if
the scene were prolonged it might complicate every-
thing, and that a single cloud upon the picture would
effectually spoil the whole. Besides, the king's heart was
filled with two or three new ideas; he had just derived fresh
inspiration from the eloquent glances of madame. Her
look had said to him, "Since they are jealous of you, divide
their suspicions, for the man who distrusts two rivals does
not distrust either in particular." So that madame, by
this clever diversion, decided him. The king smiled upon
De Guiche, who did not comprehend a word of madame's
dumb language, but only remarked that she pretended not
to look at him, and he attributed the pardon which had
been conferred upon him to the princess' kindness of heart.
The king seemed pleased with every one present. Monsieur
was the only one who did not understand anything about
the matter. The ballet began; the effect was more than
beautiful. When the music, by its bursts of melody, carried

278 TEN YEARS LATER.

away these illustrious dancers, when the simple, untutored
pantomime of that period, far more so on account of the
very indifferent acting of the august actors, had reached its
culminating point of triumph, the theater almost shook
with the tumultuous applause.

De Guiche shone like a sun, but like a courtly sun, which
is resigned to fill a subordinate part. Disdainful of a suc-
cess of which madame showed no acknowledgment, he
thought of nothing but of boldly regaining the marked
preference of the princess. She, however, did not bestow a
single glance upon him. By degrees all his happiness, all
his brilliancy, subsided into regret and uneasiness; so that
his limbs lost their power, his arms hung heavily by his
side, and his head seemed stupefied. The king, who had
from this moment become in reality the principal dancer in
the quadrille, cast a look upon his vanquished rival. De
Guiche soon ceased to sustain even the character of the
courtier; without applause, he danced indifferently, and
very soon could not dance at all, by which means the
triumph of the king and of madame was assured.

CHAPTER XL.

THE NYMPHS OF THE PARK OF FONTAINEBLEAU.

The king remained for a moment to enjoy a triumph
which was as complete as it could possibly be. He then
turned toward madame, for the purpose of admiring her
also a little in her turn. Young persons love with more
vivacity, perhaps with greater ardor and deeper passion,
than others more advanced in years; but all the other feel-
ings are at the same time developed in proportion to their
youth and vigor; so that vanity being with them almost always
the equivalent of love, the latter feeling, according to the
laws of equipoise, never attains that degree of perfection
which it acquires in men and women from thirty to thirty-
five years of age. Louis thought of madame, but only after
he had carefully thought of himself: and madame care-
fully thought of herself, without bestowing a single thought
upon the king. The victim, however, of all these royal
affections and vanities was poor De Guiche. Every one
could observe his agitation and prostration — a prostration
which was, indeed, the more remarkable since people were
not accustomed to see him with his arms hanging listlessly

TEN TEARS LATER. 279

by his side, his head bewildered, and his eyes with their
bright intelligence gone. It rarely happened that any un-
easiness was excited on his account whenever a question of
elegance or taste was under discussion, and De Guiche's
defeat was accordingly attributed by the greater number
present to his courtier-like tact and ability. But there were
others — keen-sighted observers are always to be met with at
court — who remarked his paleness and his altered looks,
which he could neither feign nor conceal, and their conclu-
sion was, that De Guiche was not acting the part of a flat-
terer. All these sufferings, successes, and remarks, were
blended, confounded, and lost in the uproar of applause.
When, however, the queens had expressed their satisfaction
and the spectators their enthusiasm, when the king had re-
tired to his dressing-room to change his costume, and while
Monsieur, dressed as a woman, as he delighted to be, was,
in his turn, dancing about, De Guiche, who had now re-
covered himself, approached madame, who, seated at the
back of the theater, was waiting for the second part, and
had quittted the others for the purpose of creating a sort of
solitude for herself in the midst of the crowd, to meditate,
as it were, beforehand, upon chorographic effects; and it
will be perfectly understood that, absorbed in deep medita-
tion, she did not see, or rather, she pretended not to see,
anything that was passing around her. De Guiche, observ-
ing that she was alone, near a thicket constructed of painted
cloth, approached her. Two of her maids of honor, dressed
as hamadryads, seeing De Guiche advance, drew back out of
res]3ect, whereupon De Guiche proceeded toward the mid-
dle of the circle and saluted her royal highness; but,
whether she did or did not observe his salutation, the prin-
cess did not even turn her head. A cold shiver passed
through poor De Guiche; he was unprepared for so utter an
indifference, for he had neither seen nor been told of any-
thing that had taken place, and, consequently, could guess
nothing. Remarking, therefore, that his obeisance obtained
him no acknowledgment, he advanced one step further,
and in a voice which he tried, though uselessly, to render
calm, said:

"I have the honor to present my most humble respects to
your royal highness."

Upon this madame deigned to turn her eyes languishingly
toward the comte, observing:

"Ah! Monsieur de Guiche, is that you? Good-day."

The comte's patience almost forsook him as he continued:

880 TEN" TEARS LATER.

"Your royal highness danced just now most charmingly.'*

•'Do you think so?" she replied, with indifference.

"Yes; the character which your royal highness assumed
is in perfect harmony with your own."

Madame again turned round, and looking De Guiche full
in the face with a bright and steady gaze, said.

"Why so?"

"Oh! there can be no doubt of it."

"Explain yourself."

"You represent a divinity, beautiful, disdainful, and
inconstant."

"You mean Pomona, comte?"

"I allude to the goddess you represent."

Madame remained silent for a moment, with her lips com-
pressed, and then observed:

"But, comte, you, too, are an excellent dancer."

"Nay, madame, I am only one of those who are never
noticed, or who are soon forgotten if they ever happen to
be noticed."

With this remark, accompanied by one of those deep sighs
which affect the remotest fibers of one's being, his heart
burdened with sorrow and throbbing fast, his head on fire,
and his gaze wandering, he bowed breathlessly, and with-
drew behind tbe thicket. The only reply madame conde-
scended to make was by slightly raising her shoulders, and
as her ladies of honor had discreetly retired while the con-
versation lasted, she recalled them by a look. The ladies
were Mile, de Tonnay-Charente and Mile, de Montalais.

"Did you hear what the Comte de Guiche said?" the
princess inquired.

"No."

"It really is very singular," she continued, in a compas-
sionate tone, "how exile has affected poor Monsieur de
Guiche's wit."

And. then, in a louder voice, fearful lest her unhappy
Tictim might lose a syllable, she said:

"In the first place,' he danced badly, and then afterward
his remarks were very silly."

She then rose, humming the air to which she was pres-
ently going to dance. De Guiche had overheard every-
thing. The arrow had pierced his heart and wounded him
mortally. Then, at the risk of interrupting the progress of
the fete by his annoyance, he fled from the scene, tearing
his beautiful costume of Autumn in pieces, and scattering,
as he went along, the branches of vines, mulberry and

TEJSr YEAKS LATER. 381

almond-trees, with all the other artificial attributes of his
divinity. A quarter of an hour afterward he had returned
to the theater; but it will be readily believed that it was
only a jjowerful effort of reason over his great excitement
that had enabled him to return; or perhaps, for the heart
is so constituted, he found it impossible even to remain
much longer separated from the presence of one who had
broken that heart. Madame was finishing her figure. She
saw, but did not look at De Guiche, who, irritated and
furious, turned his back upon her as she passed him,
escorted by her nymphs, and followed by a hundred flat-
terers. During this time, at the other end of the theater,
near the lake, a young woman was seated, with her eyes
fixed upon one of the windows of the theater, from which
were issuing streams of light, the window in question being
that of the royal box. As De Guiche quitted the theater for
the purpose of getting into the fresh air he so much needed,
he passed close to this figure and saluted her. When she
perceived the young man she rose, like a woman surprised
in the midst of ideas she was desirous of concealing from
herself. De Guiche stopped as he recognized her, and said
hurriedly:

"Good-evening, Mademoiselle de la Valliere; I am indeed
fortunate in meeting you."

''I also, Monsieur de Guiche, am glad of this accidental
meeting," said the young girl, as she was about to with-
draw.

"Pray do not leave me," said De Guiche, stretching out
his hand toward her, "for you would be contradicting the
kind words you have just pronounced. Remain, I implore
you; the evening is most lovely. You wish to escape from
this tumult, and prefer your own society. Well, I can un-
derstand it; all women who are possessed of any feeling do,
and you never find them dull or lonely when removed from
the giddy vortex of these exciting amusements. Oh,
heavens!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"What is the matter. Monsieur le Comte?" inquired La
Valliere, with some anxiety. "You seem agitated."

"I? oh, no!"

"Will you allow me. Monsieur de Guiche, to return you
the thanks I had proposed to offer you on the very first
opportunity. It is to your recommendation, I am aware,
that I owe my admission among the number of madame's
maids of honor."

"Indeed! Ah! I remember now, and I congratulate my-
self. Do you love any one?"

282 TEN YEARS LATER.

"I?" exclaimed La Valliere.

"Forgive me; I hardly know what I am saying; a thou-
sand times, forgive me. Madame was right, quite right;
this brutal exile has completely turned my brain."

"And yet it seemed to' me that the king received you
with kindness."

"Do you think so? Keceived me with kindness — perhaps
so — yes "

"There cannot be a doubt he received you kindly, for,
in fact, you have returned without his permission."

"Quite true, and I believe you are right. But have you
not seen Monsieur de Bragelonne here?"

La Valliere started at the name.

"Why do you ask?" she inquired.

"Have I offended you again?" said De Guiche. "In that
case, I am indeed unhappy, and greatly to be pitied."

"Yes, very unhappy, and very much to be pitied. Mon-
sieur de Guiche, for you seem to be suffering terribly."

"Oh, mademoiselle, why have I not a devoted sister, or a
true friend, such as yourself?"

"You have friends. Monsieur de Guiche, and the Vicomte
de Bragelonne, of whom you spoke just now, is, I believe,
one of them."

"Yes, yes, you are right; he is one of my best friends.
Farewell, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, farewell."

And he fled, like one possessed, along the banks of the
lake. His dark shadow glided, lengthening as it disap-
peared among the illumined yews and glittering undulations
of the water. La Valliere looked after him, saying:

"Yes, yes; he, too, is suffering, and I begin to under-
stand why."

She had hardly finished when her companions. Mile, de
Montalais and Mile, de Tonnay-Charente, ran forward. They
were released from their attendance, and had changed their
costumes of nymphs; delighted with the beautiful night,
and the success of the evening, they returned to look after
their companion.

"What, already here!" they said to her. "We thought
we should be the first at the rendezvous."

"I have been here this quarter of an hour," replied La
Valliere.

"Did not the dancing amuse you?"

"No."

"But surely the whole spectacle?"

"No more than the dancing. As far as a spectacle is

TEN \EAKS LATER. 283

concerned, I much prefer that which these dark woods pre-
sent, in whose depths can be seen, now in one direction and
again in another, a liglit passing by, as though it were an
eye, bright red in color, sometimes oj^en as others closed."

"La Valliere is quite a poet," said Tonnay-Charente.

"In other words," said Montalais, "she is insupportable.
Whenever there is a question of laughing a little, or of
amusing ourselves with anything. La Valliere begins to cry;
whenever we girls have reason to cry, because, perhaps,
we have mislaid our dresses, or because our vanity has been
wounded, or our costume fails to produce any effect. La
Valliere laughs."

"As far as I am concerned, that is not my character,"
said Mile, de Tonnay-Charente. "I am a woman; there
are few like me; whoever loves me, flatters me; whoever
flatters me, pleases me; and whoever pleases •"

"Well," said Montalais, "you do not finish."

"It is too difficult," replied Mile, de Tonnay-Charente,
laughing loudly. "Do you, who are so clever, finish for
me."

"And you, Louise?" said Montalais, "does anyone please
you?"

"That is a matter which concerns no one but myself,"
replied the young girl, rising from the mossy bank on which
she had been reclining during the whole time the ballet had
lasted. "Now, mesdemoiselles, we have agreed to amuse
ourselves to-night without any one to overlook us, and with-
out any escort. We are three in number, we like one an-
other, and the night is lovely; look yonder, do you not see
the moon slowly rising, silvering the topmost branches of
the chestnuts and the oaks? Oh! beautiful walk! dear
liberty! the beautiful, soft turf of the woods, the happiness
which your friendship confers upon me! Let us walk arm
in arm toward those large trees. Out yonder all are at this
moment seated at table and fully occupied, or preparing to
adorn themselves for a set and formal promenade; horses
are being saddled, or harnessed to the carriages — the queen's
mules or madame's four white ponies. As for ourselves,
we shall soon reach some retired spot where no eye can see
us and no step follow ours. Do you not remember, Monta-
lais, the woods of Chaverney and of Chambord, the num-
berless poplars of Blois, where we exchanged some of our
mutual hopes?"

"And many confidences also?"

"Yes."

284 TEN" TEARS LATER.

"Well," said Mile, de Tonnay-Charente, "I also think a
good deal; but I take care -"

*'To say nothing," said Montalais, "so that when Made-
moiselle de Tonnay-Charente thinks, Athenais is the only
one who knows it."

"Hush!" said Mile, de Tonnay-Charente. "I hear steps
approaching from this side."

"Quick, quick, then, among the high reed-grass I" said
Montalais. "Stoop, Athenais, you are so tall."

Mile, de Tonnay-Charente stooped as she was told, and
almost at the same moment they saw two gentlemen ap-
proaching, their heads bent down, walking arm in arm, on
the iine gravel-walk running parallel with the bank. The
young girls had, indeed, made themselves small, for noth-
ing was to be seen of them.

"It is Monsieur de Guiche," whispered Montalais in
Mile, de Tonnay-Charente's ear.

"It is Monsieur de Bragelonne," whispered the latter to
La Valliere.

The two young men approached still closer, conversing
in animated voices.

"She was here just now," said the count. "If I had only
seen her I should have declared it to be a vision, but I
spoke to her."

"You are positive, then?"

"Yes; but perhaps I frightened her."

"In what way?"

"Oh! I was still half-mad, at what you know, so that she
could hardly have understood what I was saying, and must
have become alarmed."

"Oh!" said De Bragelonne, "do not make yourself un-
easy; she is all kindness, and will excuse you; she is clear-
sighted, and will understand."

"Yes, but if she should have understood, and understood
too well, she may talk."

"You do not know Louise, count," said Raoul. "Louise
possesses every virtue, and has not a single fault."

And the two young men passed on, and as they proceeded
their voices were soon lost in the distance.

"How is it, La Valliere," said Mile, de Tonnay-Charente,
"that the Vicomte de Bragelonne spoke of you as Louise?"

"We were brought up together," replied Louise, blush-
ing; "Monsieur de Bragelonne has honored me by asking
my hand in marriage; but "

"Well?"

TEN YEAKS LATER. 285

"It seems the king will not consent to the marriage."

"Eh! Why the king? and what has the king to do with
it?" exclaimed Aure sharply. "Good graciousi has the
king the right to interfere in matters of that kind? Poli-
tics are politics, as Monsieur de Mazarin used to say; but
love is love. If, therefore, you love Monsieur de Brage-
lonne, marry him; I give my consent."

Athenais began to laugh.

"Oh! I speak seriously," replied Montalais, "and my
opinion in this case is quite as good as the king's, I suj)pose;
is it not, Louise?"

"Come," said La Valliere, "these gentlemen have passed;
let us take advantage of our being alone to cross the open
ground, and so take refuge in the woods."

"So much the better," said Athenais, "because I see the
torches setting out from the chateau and the theater, w^hich
seem as if they were preceding some person of distinction."

"Let us run, then," said all three.

And, gracefully lifting up the long skirts of their silk
dresses, they lightly ran across the open space between the
lake and the thickest covert of the j^ark. Montalais agile
as a deer, Athenais eager as a young wolf, bounded through
the dry grass, and, now and then, some bold Acteon might,
by the aid of the faint light, have perceived their straight
and well-formed limbs somewhat displayed beneath the
heavy folds of their satin petticoats. La Valliere, more
relined and less bashful, allowed her dress to flow around
her; retarded also by the lameness of her foot, it was not
long before she called out to her companions to halt, and,
left behind, she obliged them both to wait for her. At this
tnoment a man, concealed in a dry ditch full of young willow
saplings, scrambled quickly up its shelving side, and ran oft'
in the direction of the chateau. The three young girls, on
their side, reached the outskirts of the park, every path of
which they well knew. The ditches were bordered by high
hedges full of flowers, which on that side protected the
foot-passengers from being intruded upon by the horses and
carriages. In fact, the sound of madame's and of the queen's
carriages could be heard in the distance upon the hard, dry
ground of the roads, followed by the mounted cavaliers.
Distant music was heard in response, and when the soft
notes died away the nightingale, with his song full of pride,
poured forth his melodious chants, and his most compli-
cated, learned, and sweetest compositions, to those who he
perceived had met beneath the thick covert of the woods.

286 TEN TEARS LATER.

Near the songster, in the dark background of the large
trees, could be seen the glistening eyes of an owl, attracted
by the harmony. In this way the fete, for the whole court
was a, fete also for the mysteripus inhabitants of the forest;
for certainly the deer from the brake, the pheasant on the
branch, the fox in its hole, were all listening. One could
realize the life led by this nocturnal and invisible popula-
tion from the restless movements which suddenly took place
among the leaves. Our sylvan nymphs uttered a slight cry,
but, reassured immediately afterward, they laughed, and
resumed their walk. In this manner they reached the
royal oak, the venerable relic of an oak which in its earlier
days bad listened to the sighs of Henry II. for tne beautiful
Diana of Poictiers, and later still, to those of Henry IV. for
the lovely Gabrielle d'Estrees. Beneath this oak the gar-
deners had piled up the moss and turf in such a manner
that never had a seat more luxuriously reposed the wearied
limbs of any monarch. The trunk of the tree, somewhat
rough to recline against, was sufficiently large to accommo-
date the three young girls, whose voices were lost among
the branches, which stretched downward toward the trunk.

CHAPTEE XLI.

WHAT WAS SAID UlTDER THE ROYAL OAK.

The softness of the air, the stillness of the foliage, tacitly
imposed upon these young girls an engagement to change
immediately their giddy conversation for one of a more
serious character. She, indeed, whose disposition was the
most lively — Montalais, for instance — was the first to yield
to its influence; and she began by heaving a deep sigh, and
saying:

"What happiness to be here alone, and at liberty, with
every right to be frank, especially toward each other."

"Yes," said Mile, de Tonnay-Charente; "for the court,
however brilliant it may be, has always some falsehood con-
cealed beneath the folds of its velvet robes, or beneath the
blaze of its diamonds."

"I," replied La Valliere, "I never tell a falsehood; when
I cannot speak the truth I remain silent."

"You will not remain long in favoi," said Montalais;
"it is not here as it was at Blois, where we told the dowager
madame all our little annoyances and all our longings.

TEN YEARS LATER. 287

There were certain days when maclame remembered that
she herself had been young, and on those days whoever
talked with her found in her a sincere friend. She related
• to us her flirtations with Monsieur, and we told her of the
flirtations she had had with others, or, at least, the rumors
of them which had been spread abroad. Poor woman, so
simple-minded! she laughed at them, as we did. Where is
she now?"

"Ah, Montalais — laughter-loving Montalais!" cried La
Valliere, "you see you are sighing again; the woods inspire
you, and you are almost reasonable this evening."

"You ought not, either of you," said Athenais, "to re-
gret the court at Blois so much, unless you do not feel
happy with us. A court is a place v/here men and women
resort to talk of matters which mothers, guardians, and
especially confessors, so severely denounce."

"Oh, Athenais!" said Louise, blushing.

"Athenais is frank to-night," said Montalais; "let us
avail ourselves of it."

"Yes; let us take advantage of it, for this evening I
could divulge the dearest secrets of my heart."

"Ah, if Monsieur de Montespan were here!" said
Montalais.

"Do you think that I care for Monsieur de Montespan?"
murmured the beautiful young girl.

"He is handsome, I believe?"

"Yes. And that is no small advantage in my eyes."

"There, now, you see "

"I will go further, and say that of all the men whom one
sees here, he is the handsomest and the most "

"What was that?" said La Valliere, starting suddenly
from the mossy bank.

"A deer which hurried by, perhaps."

"I am only afraid of men," said Athenais.

"When they do not resemble Monsieur de Montespan."

"A truce to this raillery. Monsieur de Montespan is at-
tentive to me, but that does not commit me in any way.
Is not Monsieur de Guiche here, he who is so devoted to
madame?"

"Poor fellow!" said La Valliere.

"Why poor? Madame is sufficiently beautiful and of
sufficiently high rank, I suppose."

La Valliere shook her head sorrowfully, saying:

"When one loves, it is neither beauty nor rank; when
one loves, it should be the heart, or the eyes only, of him
or of her whom one loves."

288 TEN YEARS LATER.

Montalais began to laugh loudly.

"Heart, eyes/' she said. "Oh, sugar-plums !"

"I speak for myself," replied La Valliere.

"ISToble sentiments," said Athenais,with an air of protection.

"Are they not your own?" said Louise.

"Perfectly so; but to continue: how can one pity a man
who bestows his attentions upon such a woman as madame?
If any disproportion exists, it is on the count's side."

"Oh, no, no !" said La Valliere ; "it is on madame's side."

"Explain yourself."

"I will. Madame has not even a wish to know what love,
is. She diverts herself with the feelings, as children do with
fireworks, of which a spark might set a palace on fire. It
makes a display, and that is all she cares about. Besides,
pleasure and love form the tissue of which she wishes her life
to be woven. Monsieur de Guiche will love this illustrious
personage but she will never love him."

Athenais laughed disdainfully.

"Do people really love?" she said. "Where are the noble
sentiments you just now uttered? Does not a woman's vir-
tue consist in the courageous refusal of every intrigue which
might compromise her? A properly regulated woman, en-
dowed with a generous heart, ought to look at men, make
herself loved — adored, even, by them, and say, at the very
utmost, but once in her life, 'I begin to think that I ought
not to have been what I am — I should have detested this
one less than others.' "

"Therefore," exclaimed La Valliere, "that is what Monsieur
de Montespan has to expect."

"Certainly; he, as well as every one else. What, have I
not said that I admit he possesses a certain superiority, and
would not that be enough? My dear child, a woman is a
queen during the whole period nature permits her to enjoy
sovereign power — from fifteen to thirty-five years of age.
After that, we are free to have a heart, when we only have
that left "

"Oh, oh!" murmured La Valliere.

"Excellent !" cried Montalais ; "a wife and mistress com-
bined in one. Athenais, you will make your way in the
world."

"Do you not approve of what I say ?"

"Completely," replied her laughing companion.

"You are not serious, Montalais?" said Louise.

TEN TEARS LATER. 289

"Yes, yes; I approve everything Athenais has just said;
only "

"Only what?"

"Well, I cannot carry it out. I have the firmest princi-
ples; I form resolutions beside which the laws of the Stadt-
holder and of the King of Spain are child's play; but when
the moment arrives to put them into execution, nothing
comes of them."

"Your courage fails?" said Athenais scornfully.

"Miserably so."

"Great weakness of nature," returned Athenais. "But
at least you make a choice."

"Why, no. It pleases fate to disappoint me in every-
thing; I dream of emperors, and I find only "

"Aure, Aure!" exclaimed La Valliere, "for pity's sake,
do not, for the pleasure of saying something witty, sacrifice
those who love you with such devoted affection."

"Oh, I do not trouble myself much about that; those who
love me are sufficiently happy that I do not dismiss them
altogether. So much the worse for myself if I have a weak-
ness for any one, but so much the worse for others if I
revenge myself upon them for it."

"You are right," said Athenais, "and perhaps you, too,
will reach the same goal. In other words, young ladies,
that is termed being a coquette. Men, who are very silly
in most things, are particularly so in confounding, under
the term of coquetry, a woman's pride and her variable-
ness. I, for instance, am proud; that is to say, impregna-
ble. I treat my admirers harshly, but without any preten-
sion to retain them. Men call me a coquette, because they
are vain enough to think I care for them. Other women —
Montalais, for instance — have allowed themselves to be in-
fluenced by flattery; they would be lost were it not for that
most fortunate principle of instinct which urges them to
change suddenly, and punish the man whose devotion they
had so recently accepted."

"A very learned dissertation," said Montalais, in the
tone of thorough enjoyment.

"It is odious!" murmured Louise.

"Thanks to this sort of coquetry, for, indeed, that is
genuine coquetry," continued Mile, de Tonnay-Charente,
"the lover who, a little while since, was puffed up with
pride, in a minute afterward is suffering at every pore of
his vanity and self-esteem. He was, perhaps, already be-
ginning to assume the airs of a conqueror, but now he
DuiiAS — YOL. XV. 13

290 TEN YEARS LATER.

recedes; he was about to assume an air of protection to-
ward US;, but he is obliged to prostrate himself once more.
The result of all which is, that, instead of having a husband
who is jealous and troublesome, from restraint in his con-
duct toward us, we have a lover always trembling in our
presence, always fascinated by our attractions, and always
submissive; and for this simple reason, that he finds the
same woman never the same. Be convinced, therefore, of
the advantages of coquetry. Possessing that, one reigns a
queen among women in cases where Providence has with-
held that precious faculty of holding one's heart and mind
in check."

"How clever you are," said Montalais, "and how well
you understand the duty women owe themselves."

"I am only settling a case of individual happiness," said
Athenais modestly; "and defend myself, like all weak,
loving dispositions, against the oppressions of the stronger."

La Valliere did not say a word.

"Does she not approve of what we are saying?"

"Nay; only I do not understand it," said Louise. "You
talk like those who would not be called upon to live in this
world of ours."

"And very pretty your world is," said Montalais.

"A world," returned Athenais, "in which men worship
a woman until she has fallen — or insult her when she has
fallen."

"Who spoke to you of falling?" said Louise.

"Yours is a new theory, then; will you tell us how you
intend to resist yielding to temptation, if you allow your-
self to be hurried away by feelings of affection?"

"Oh!" exclaimed the young girl, raising toward the dark
heavens her beautiful eyes filled with tears, "if you did but
know what a heart was, I would explain, and would con-
vince you; a loving heart is stronger than all your coquetry,
and more powerful than all your pride. A woman is never
truly loved, I believe; a man never loves with idolatry, ex-
cept he feels himself loved in return. Let old men, whom
we read of in comedies, fancy themselves adored by co-
quettes. A young man is conscious of, and knows them; if
he has a fancy, or a strong desire, or an absorbing passion, for
a coquette, he cannot mistake her; a coquette may drive
him out of his senses, but will never make him fall in love.
Love, such as I conceive it to be, is an incessant, complete,
and perfect sacrifice; but it is not the sacrifice of one only
of the two persons who are united. It is the perfect abnega-

TEN YEARS LATER. 291

tion of two who are desirous of blending their beings into
one. If I ever love, I shall implore my lover to leave me
free and pure; I will tell him, what he will understand, that
my heart was torn by my refusal, and he, in his love for me,
aware of the magnitude of my sacrifice — he, in his turn, I
say, will store his devotion for me — will respect me, and
will not seek my ruin, to insult me when I shall have fallen,
as you said just now, when uttering your blasphemies
against love, such as I understand it. That is my idea of
love. And now you will tell me, perhaps, that my lover will
despise me. I defy him to do so, unless he be the vilest of
men, and my heart assures me that it is not such a man I
should choose. A look from me will repay him for the
sacrifices he makes, or it will inspire him with virtues which
he would never think he possessed."

'*But, Louise," exclaimed Montalais, "you tell us this,
and do not carry it into practice."

"What do you mean?"

"You are adored by Eaoul de Bragelonne, who worships
you on both his knees. The poor fellow is made the victim
of your virtue. Just as he would be — nay, more than he
would be even, of my coquetry, or of Athenais" pride."

"This is simply a different shade of coquetry," said
Athenais; "and Louise, 1 perceive, is a coquette without
knowing it."

"Oh!" said La Valliere.

"Yes, you may call it instinct, if you please, keenest sen-
sibility, exquisite refinement of feeling, perpetual ^ display
of unrestrained outbreaks of affection, which end in noth-
ing. It is very artful too, and very effective. I should
even, now that I reflect on it, have preferred this system of
tactics to my own pride, for waging war with members of
the other sex, because it offers the advantage sometimes of
thoroughly convincing them; but at the present moment,
without utterly condemning myself, I declare it to be
superior to the simple coquetry of Montalais." And the
two young girls began to laugh.

La Valliere alone preserved a silence and quietly shook
her head. Then, a moment after, she added, "If you were
to tell me, in the presence of a man, but a fourth part of
what you have Just said, or even if I were assured that you
think it, I should die of shame and grief where I am now."

"Very well; die, poor tender little darling," replied Mile.
de Tonnay-Charente; "for, if there are no men here, there
are at least two women, your own friends, who declare you to

292 TEN TEAKS LATER.

be attainted and convicted of being a coquette from instinct;
in other words, the most dangerous kind of coquette which
the world possesses."

"Oh! mesdemoiselles," replied La Valliere, blushing, and
almost ready to weep. Her two companions again burst
out laughing.

"Very well! I shall ask Bragelonne to tell me."

"Brageloune?" said Athenais.

"Yes; Bragelonne, who is as courageous as Caesar, and as
clever and witty as Monsieur Fouquet. Poor fellow! for
twelve years he has known you, loved you, and yet — one
can hardly believe it — he has never even kissed the tips of
your lingers."

"Tell us the reason of this cruelty, you who are all heart,"
said Athenais to La Valliere.

"I will explain it by a single word — virtue. You will
perhaps deny the existence of virtue?"

"Come, Louise, tell us the truth," said Aure, taking her
by the hand.

"What do you wish me to tell you?" cried Valliere.

"Whatever you like; but it will be useless for you to say
anything, for I persist in my opinion of you, A coquette
from instinct; in other words, as I have already said, and I
say it again, the most dangerous of all coquettes."

"Oh! no, no; for pity's sake, do not believe that!"

"What! twelve years of extreme severity."

"How can that be, since twelve years ago I was only five
years old. The freedom of the child cannot surely be
added to the young girl's account."

"Well, you are now seventeen; three years instead of
twelve. During those three years you have remained con-
stantly and unchangeably cruel. Against you aire arrayed
the silent shades of Blois, the meetings when you diligently
conned the stars together, the evening wanderings beneath
the plantain-trees, his impassioned twenty years speaking to
your fourteen summers, the fire of his glances addressed to
yourself."

"Yes, yes; but so it is!"

"Impossible!"

"But why impossible?"

"Tell us something credible, and we will believe you."

"Yet, if you were to suppose one thing."

"What is that?"

"Suppose that I thought I was in love, and that I am
not."

TEN YEARS LATER. 293

"What! not in love?"

"If I have acted in a different manner to what others do
when they are in love, it is because I do not love, and be-
cause my hour has not yet come."

"Louise, Louise," said Montalais, "take care, or I will
remind you of the remark you made just now. Eaoul is
not here; do not overwhelm him while he is absent; be
charitable, and if, on closer inspection, you think you do
not love him, tell him so, poor fellow!" and she began to
laugh.

"Louise pitied Monsieur de Guiche just now," said
Athenais; "would it be possible to detect the explanation of
the indifference for the one in this compassion for the
other."

"Say what you please," said La Valliere sadly; "up-
braid me as you like, since you do not understand me."

"Oh! oh!" replied Montalais, "temper, sorrow, and tears;
we are laughing, Louise, and are not, I assure you, quite
the monsters you suppose. Look at the proud Athenais, as
she is called; she does not love Monsieur de Montespan, it
is true, but she would be in despair if Monsieur de Mon-
tespan were not to love her. Look at me; I laugh at Mon-
sieur Malicorne, but the poor fellow whom I laugh at knows
very well when he may be permitted to press his lips upon
my hand. And yet the eldest of us is not twenty yet.
What a future before us!"

"Silly, silly girls!" murmured Louise.

"You are quite right," said Montalais; "and you alone
have spoken words of wisdom."

"Certainly."

"I do not dispute it," replied Athenais. "And so it is
positive you do not love poor Monsieur de Bragelonne?"

"Perhaps she does," said Montalais; "she is not yet
quite sure of it. But, in any case, listen, Athenais; if Mon-
sieur de Bragelonne becomes free, I will give you a little
friendly advice."

"What is that?"

"To look at him well before you decide in favor of Mon-
sieur de Montespan."

"Oh! in that way of considering the subject. Monsieur
de Bragelonne is not the only one whom one could look at
with pleasure; Monsieur de Guiche, for instance, has his
value also."

"He did not distinguish himself this evening," said
Montalais; " and I know from very good authority that
madame thought him unbearable-"

394 TEN YEARS LATER.

''Monsieur de St. Aignan produced a most brilliant effect,
and I am sure that more than one person who saw him
dance this evening will not soon forget him. Do you not
think so, La Valliere?"

"Why do you ask me? I did not see him, nor do I know
him."

''What! you did not see Monsieur de St. Aignan? You
do not know him?"

"No."

'"Come, come, do not afiEect a virtue more extravagantly
excessive than our Jierf is; you have eyes, I suppose?"

"Excellent."

"Then you must have seen all those who danced this
evening."

"Yes, nearly all."

"That is a very impertinent 'nearly all' for some."

"You must take it for what it is worth."

"Very well; now, among all those gentlemen whom you
gaw, which do you prefer?"

"Yes," said Montalais; "is it Monsieur de St. Aignan, or
Monsieur de Guiche, or Monsieur "

"I prefer no one; I thought them all about the same."

"Do you mean, then, that among that brilliant assembly,
the first court in the world, no one pleased you?"

"I do not say that."

"Tell us, then, who your ideal is."

"It is not an ideal being."

"He exists, then?"

"In very truth," exclaimed La Valliere, aroused and ex-
cited, "I cannot understand you at all. What! you who
have a heart as I have, eyes as I have, and yet you speak of
Monsieur de Guiche, of Monsieur de St. Aignan, when the
king was there." These words, uttered in a precipitate
manner, and in an agitated, fervid tone of voice, made her
two companions, between whom she was seated, exclaim in
a manner which terrified her "The king!"

La Valliere buried her face in her hands. "Yes," she
murmured; "the king! the king! Have you ever seen any
one to be compared to the king?"

"You were right just now in saying you had excellent
eyes, Louise, for you see a great distance; too far, indeed.
Alas! the king is not one upon whom our poor eyes have a
right to be fixed."

"That is too true," cried La Valliere; "it is not the
privilege of all eyes to gaze upon the sun; but I will look

TEN YEARS LATER. 295

upon him, even were I to be blinded in doing so.'' At this
moment, and as though caused by the words which had just
escajoed La Valliere's lips, a rustling of leaves, and of that
Avhich sounded like some silken material, was heard behind
the adjoining bush. The young girls hastily rose, almost
terrified out of their senses. They distinctly saw the leaves
move, without observing what it Avas that stirred them.

''It is a wolf or a wild boar," cried Montalais; "fly! fly!'*
The three girls, in the very extremity of terror, fled by the
first path which presented itself, and did not stop until they
had reached the verge of the wood. There, breathless,
leaning against one another, feeling their hearts throb
wildly, they endeavored to collect their senses, but could
only succeed in doing so after the lapse of some minutes.
Perceiving at last the lights from the windows of the
chateau, they decided to walk toward them. La Valliere
was exhausted with fatigue, and Aure and Athenais were
obliged to support her.

"We have escaped well," said Montalais.

"I am greatly afraid," said La Valliere, "that it was
something worse than a wolf. For my part, and I speak as
I think, I should have preferred to have run the risk of
being devoured alive by some wild animal than to have been
listened to and overheard. Fool, fool, that I am! How
could I have thought, how could I have said what I didP"
And saying this, her head bowed like the head of a reed,
she felt her limbs fail, and, all her strength abandoning
her, she glided almost inanimate from the arms of her com-
panions, and sank down upon the grass.

CHAPTER XLIL

THE king's uneasiness.

Let us leave poor La Valliere, who had fainted in the arms
of he? two companions, and return to the precincts of the
royal oak. The young girls had hardly run twenty paces
when the sound which had so much alarmed them was re-
newed among the branches. A man's figure might indis-
tinctly be perceived, and putting the branches of the bushes
aside, he appeared upon the verge of the wood, and perceiv-
ing that the place was empty, burst out into a peal of
laughter. It was useless to say that the form in question
was that of a young and handsome man, who immediately
made a sign to another, who thereupon made his appearance.

296 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Well, sire/* said the second figure, advancing timidly,
"has your majesty put our young sentimentalists to flight?""

"It seems so," said the king, "and you can show your-
self without fear."

"Take care, sire; you will be recognized."

"But I tell you they have gone."

"This is a most fortunate meeting, sire; and, if I dared
offer an opinion to your majesty, we ought to follow them."

"They are far awaj by this time."

"They would easily allow themselves to be overtaken,
especially if they knew who were following them."

"What do you mean by that, coxcomb that you are?"

"Why, one of them seems to have taken a fancy to me,
and another compared you to the sun."

"The greater reason why we should not show ourselves,
St. Aignan. The sun does not show himself in the night-
time."

"Upon my word, sire, your majesty seems to have very
little curiosity. In your place, I should like to know who
are the two nymphs, the two dryads, the two hamadryads,
who have so good an opinion of us."

"I shall know them again very well, I assure you, with-
out running after them."

"By what means?"

"By their voices, of course. They belong to the court,
and the one who spoke of me had a very sweet voice."

"Ah! your majesty permits yourself to be influenced by
flattery."

"No one will ever say it is a means you make use of."

"Forgive my stupidity, sire."

"Come; let us go and look where I told you."

"Is the passion, then, which your majesty confided to me,
already forgotten?"

"Oh! no, indeed. How is it possible to forget such beau-
tiful eyes as Mademoiselle de la Valliere has?"

"Yet the other had so sweet a voice."

"Which one?"

"She who has fallen in love with the sun."

"Monsieur de St. Aignan!"

"Forgive me, sire.'

*'Well, I am not sorry you should believe me to be an
admirer of sweet voices as well as of beautiful eyes. I
know you to be a terrible talker, and to-morrow I shall have
to pay for the confidence I have shown you."

"What do you mean, sire?"

TEN YEAKS LATER. 297

"That to-morrow every one -will know that I have designs
upon this little La Valliere; but be careful, St. Aignan, I
have confided my secret to no one but you, and if any one
should speak to me about it I shall know who has betrayed
my secret."

"You are angry, sire."

"No; but you understand I do not wish to compromise
the poor girl."

"Do not be afraid, sire."

"You promise me, then?"

"I give you my word of honor."

"Excellent," thought the king, laughing to himself;
"now every one will know to-morrow that I have been run-
ning about after La Valliere to-night."

Then, endeavoring to see where he was, he said: "Why,
we have lost ourselves."

"Not quite so bad as that, sire."

"Where does that gate lead to?"

"To the great Road Point, sire."

"Where we were going when we heard the sound of
women's voices?"

"Yes, sire, and the termination of a conversation in which
I had the honor of hearing my own name pronounced by the
side of your majesty's."

"You return to that.subject very frequently, St. Aignan."

"Your majesty will forgive me, but I am delighted to
know that a women exists whose thoughts are occupied
about me, without my knowledge, and without having done
anything to deserve it. Your majesty cannot comprehend
this satisfaction, for your rank and merit attract attention
and compel regard."

"No, no, St. Aignan, believe me or not, as you like,"
said the king, leaning familiarly upon St. Aignan's arm,
and taking the path which he thought would lead him to
the chdteau; "but this candid confession, this perfectly dis-
interested preference of one who will, perhaps, never at-
tract my attention — in one word, the mystery of this
adventure excites me, and the truth is, that if I were not
so taken with La Valliere "

"Do not let that interfere with your majesty's intentions;
you have time enough before you."

"What do you mean?"

"La Valliere is said to be very strict in her ideas."

"You excite my curiosity, and I am anxious to find her
again. Come, let us walk on."

298 TEN TEARS LATER.

The king spoke nntrnly, for nothing, on the contrary,
could make him less anxious; but he had a part to play, and
so he walked on hurriedly. St. Aignan followed him at a
short distance. Suddenly the king stopped; the courtier
followed his example.

"St. Aignan," he said, "do you not hear some one
moaning?"

"Yes, sire, and crying, too, it seoms."

"It is in this direction," said the king. "It sounds like
the tears and sobs of a woman."

"Eun,"said the king; and, following a by-path, they ran
across the grass. As they approached the cries were more
distinctly heard.

"Help! help!" exclaimed two voices. The king and his
companion redoubled their speed, and as they approached
nearer the sighs they had heard were changed into loud
sobs. The cry of "Help! help!" was again repeated; at
the sound of which the king and St. Aignan increased the
rapidity of their pace. Suddenly, at the other side of a
ditch, under the branches of a willow, they perceived a
woman on her knees, holding another in her arms, who
seemed to have fainted. A fcAV paces from them, a third,
standing in the middle of the path, was calling for assist-
ance. Perceiving two gentlemen, whose rank she could
not tell, her cries for assistance were redoubled. The king,
who was in advance of his companion, leaped across the
ditch, and reached the group at the very moment when,
from the end of the path which led to the chateau, a dozen
persons were approaching, who had been drawn to the spot
by the same cries which had attracted the attention of the
king and M. de St. Aignan.

"What is the matter, young ladies?" said Louis.

"The king!" exclaimed Mile, de Montalais, in her aston-
ishment letting La Valliere's head fall upon the ground.

"Yes, it is the king; but that is no reason why you should
abandon your companion. Who is she?"

"It is Mademoiselle de la Valliere, sire."

"Mademoiselle de la Valliere?"

"Yes, sire; she has just fainted."

"Poor child!" said the king. "Quick, quick, fetch a
surgeon!" But hoAvever great the anxiety with which the
king had pronounced these words may have seemed to
others, he had not so carefully watched over himself that
they appeared, as well as the gesture which accompanied
them, somewhat cold to St. Aignan, to whom the king had

TEN YEARS LATER. 299

confided the great affection with which she had inspired
him.

'"St. Aignan,'* continued the king, ''watch over Made-
moiselle de la Valliere, I beg. Send for a surgeon. I will
hasten forward and inform madame of the accident Avhich
has befallen one of her maids of honor." And, in fact,
while M. de St. Aignan was busily engaged in making prep-
arations for carrying Mile, de la Valliere to the chateau,
the king hurried forward, happy to have an opportunity of
approaching madame, and of speaking to her under some
colorable pretext. Fortunately, a carriage was passing; the
coachman was told to stop, and the persons who were inside,
having been informed of the accident, eagerly gave up their
seats to Mile, de la Valliere. The current of fresh air pro-
duced by the rapid motion of the carriage soon recalled her
to her senses. Having reached the chateau, she was able,
though very weak, to alight from the carriage, and, with
the assistance of Athenais and of Montalais, to reach the
inner apartments. They made her sit down in one of the
rooms of the ground-floor. After awhile, as the accident
had not produced much effect upon those who had been
walking, the promenade was resumed. During this time,
the king had found madame beneath a tree with overhang-
ing branches, and had seated himself by her side.

''Take care, sire," said Henrietta to him, in a low tone,
"you do not show yourself as indifferent as you should be."

"Alas!" replied the king, in the same tone, "I much fear
we have entered into an agreement above our strength to
keep." He then added, aloud: "You have heard of the
accident, I suppose?"

"What accident?"

"Oh! in seeing you, I forgot that I had come expressly
to tell you of it. I am, however, painfully affected by it;
one of your maids of honor, Mademoiselle de la Valliere,
has just fainted."

"Indeed! poor girl," said the princess quietly; "what
was the cause of it?"

She then added, in an undertone, "You forget, sire,
that you wish others to believe in your passion for this girl,
and yet you remain here while she is almost dying, perhaps,
elsewhere."

"Ah! madame," said the king, sighing, "how much more
perfect you are in your part than I am, and how well you
think of everything."

He then rose, saying loud enough for every one to hear

300 TEN YEAKS LATER.

him: "Permit me to leave you, madame; my uneasiness is
very great, and I wish to be quite certain, myself, that
proper attention has been given to Mademoiselle de la
Valliere." And the king left again to return to La Val-
liere, while those who had been present commented upon
the king's remark: 'My uneasiness is very great.'

CHAPTEK XLIII.

THE king's secret.

On his way Louis met the Comte de St. Aignan. "Well,
. St. Aignan," he inquired, with affected interest, ''how is
the invalid?"

"Really, sire," stammered St. Aignan, "to my shame, I
confess I do not know."

"What! you do not know?" said the king, pretending to
take in a serious manner this want of attention for the
object of his predilection.

"Will your majesty pardon me; but I have just met one
of our three loquacious wood-nymphs, and I confess that
my attention has been taken away from other matters."

"Ah!" said the king eagerly, "you have found, then "

"The one who deigned to speak of me in such advantagous
terms; and, having found mine, I was searching for yours,
sire, when I had the happiness to meet your majesty."

"Very well; but Mademoiselle de la Valliere before every-
thing else," said the king, faithful to the character he had
assumed.

"Oh! our charming invalid!" said St. Aignan; "how
fortunately her fainting came on, since your majesty had
already occupied yourself about her."

"What is the name of your fair lady, St. Aignan? Is it
a secret?"

"It ought to be a secret, and a very great one, even; but
your majesty is well aware that no secret can possibly exist
for you."

"Well, what is her name?"

"Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."

"Is she pretty?"

"Exceedingly so, sire; and I recognized the voice which
pronounced my name in such tender accents. I then ac-
costed her, questioned her as well as I was able to do in
the midst of the crowd; and she told me, without suspect-

TEN YEARS LATER. 301

ing anything, that a 'ittle while ago she was under the great
oak, with her two friends, when the appearance of a wolf
or a robber had terrified them, and made them run away."

"But," inquired the king anxiously, "what are the
names of these two friends?"

"Sire," said St. Aignan, "will your majesty send me
forthwith to the Bastile?"

"What for?"

"Because I am an egotist and a fool. My surprise was so
great at such a conquest, and at so fortunate a discovery,
that I went no further in my inquiries. Besides, I did not
think that your majesty would attach any very great im-
portance to what you heard, knowing how much your atten-
tion was taken up by Mademoiselle dela Valliere; and then.
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente left me precipitately to
return to Mademoiselle de la Valliere."

"Let us hope, then, that I shall be as fortunate as your-
self. Come, St. Aignan."

"Your majesty is ambitious, I perceive, and does not wish
to allow any conquest to escape you. Well, I assure you
that I will conscientiously set about my inquiries; and,
moreover, from one of the three Graces we shall learn the
names of the others, and, by' the name, the secret."

"I, too," said the king, "only require to hear her voice
to know it again. Come, let us say no more about it, but
show me where poor La Valliere is."

"Well," thought St. Aignan, "the king's regard is begin-
ing to display itself, and for that girl, too. It is extraor-
dinary; I should never have believed it." And with this
thought passing through his mind, he showed the king the
room where La Valliere had been taken; the king entered,
followed by St. Aignan. In a low room, near a large win-
dow looking out upon the gardens, La Valliere, reclining
in a large armchair, inhaled in deep draughts the perfumed
evening breeze. From the loosened body of her dress the
lace fell in tumbled folds, mingling with the tresses of her
beautiful fair hair, which lay scattered upon her shoulders.
Her languishing eyes were filled with tears; she seemed as
lifeless as those beautiful visions of our dreams, which jiass
before the closed eyes of the sleeper, half-opening their
wings without moving them, unclosing their lips without a
sound escaping them. The pearl-like pallor of La Valliere
possessed a charm which it would be impossible to describe.
Mental and bodily suffering had produced upon her features
a soft and noble expression of grief; from the perfect pas-

303 TEN" TEARS LATER.

siveness of her arms and bust, she more resembled one
whose sonl had passed away than a living being; she seemed
not to hear either the whisperings of her companions or the
distant murmurs which arose from the neighborhood. She
seemed to be communing within herself; and her beautiful,
slender, and delicate hands trembled from time to time, as
though from the contact of some invisible touch. She was
so completely absorbed in her reverie that the king entered
without her perceiving him. At a distance he gazed upon
her lovely face, upon which the moon shed its pure silvery
light.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, with a terror he could
not control, "she is dead!"

"No, sire," said Montalais, in a low voice; "on the con-
trary, she is better. Are you not better, Louise?"

But Louise did not answer. "Louise," continued Mon-
talais, "the king has deigned to express his uneasiness on
your account."

"The king!" exclaimed Louise, starting up abruptly, as
if a stream of fire had darted through her frame to her
heart; "the king uneasy about me?"

"Yes," said Montalais.

"The king is here, then?" said La Valliere, not ventur-
ing to look round her.

"That voice! that voice!" whispered Louis eagerly to
St. Aignan.

"Yes, it is so," replied St. Aignan; "your majesty is
right; it is she who declared her love for the sun."

"Hush!" said the king. And then approaching La Val-
liere, he said, "You are not well. Mademoiselle de la Val-
liere? Just now, indeed, in the park, I saw that you had
fainted. How were you attacked?"

"Sire," stammered out the poor child, pale and trem-
bling, "I really do not know."

"You have been walking too much," said the king; "and
fatigue, perhaps "

"No, sire," said Montalais eagerly, answering for her
friend, "it could not be from fatigue, for we passed part of
the evening seated beneath the royal oak."

"Under the royal oak?" returned the king, starting. "I
was not deceived; it is as I thought." And he directed a
look of intelligence at the comte.

"Yes," said St. Aignan, "under the royal oak, with
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente."

"How do you know that?" inquired Montalais.

TEN- TEARS LATER. SOS*

"In a v6ry simple way. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente told me so."

"In that case, she probably told you the cause of Made-
moiselle de la Valliere fainting."

"Why, yes; she told me something about a wolf or a rob-
ber. I forget precisely which." La Valliere listened, her
eyes fixed, her bosom heaving, as if, gifted with an acute-
ness of perception, she foresaw a portion of the truth.
Louis imagined this attitude and agitation to be the conse-
quence of a terror but partially removed. "Nay, fear noth-
ing," he said, with a rising emotion which he could not
conceal; "the wolf which terrified you so much was simply
a wolf with two legs."

"It was a man, then," said Louise; "it was a man who
was listening?"

"Suppose it were, mademoiselle, what great evil was there
in his having listened? Is it likely that, even in your own
opinion, you would have said anything which could not
have been listened to?"

La Valliere wrung her hands, and hid her face in them,
as if to hide her blushes. "In heaven's name," she said,
"who was concealed there? who was listening?"

The king advanced toward her, to take hold of one of
her hands. "It was I," he said, bowing with marked re-
spect. "Is it likely I could have frightened you?" La
Valliere uttered a loud cry; for the second time her strength
forsook her, and, cold, moaning, and in utter despair, she
again fell apparently lifeless in her chair. The king had
just time to hold out his arm; so that she was partially sup-
ported by him. Mile, de Tonnay-Charente and Montaiais,
who stood a few paces from the kiug and La Valliere,
motionless and almost petrified at the recollection of the
conversation with La Valliere, did not think even of offer-
ing their assistance to her, feeling restrained by the pres-
ence of the king, who, with one knee on the ground, held
La Valliere round the waist with his arm.

"You heard, sire!" murmured Athenais. But the king
did not reply; he remained with his eyes fixed upon La
Valliere's half-closed eyes, and held her drooping hand in
his own.

"Of course," replied St. Aignan, who, on his side, hop-
ing that Mile, de Tonnay-Charente would faint, advanced
toward her, holding his arms extended; "of course; we did
not even lose a word." But the haughty Athenais was not
a woman to faint easily; she darted a terrible look at St.

304 TEN YEARS LATER.

Aignan, and fled. Ivlontalais, with more courage, advanced
hurriedly toward Louise, and received her from the king's
hands, who was already fast losing his presence of mind,
as he felt his face covered by the perfumed tresses of the
seemingly dying girl. "Excellent," said St. Aignan.
"This is indeed an adventure; and it will be my own fault
if I am not the first to relate it."

The king approached him, and with a trembling voice
and a passionate gesture, said, "Not a syllable, comte."

The poor king forgot that, only an hour before, he had
given him a similar recommendation, but with the very
opposite intention, namely, that the comte should be indis-
creet. It was a matter of course that the latter recom-
mendation was quite as unnecessary as the former. Half
an hour afterward everybody in Fontainebleau knew that
Mile, de la Valliere had had a conversation under the royal
oak with Montalais and Tonnay-Oharente, and that in this
conversation she had confessed her affection for the king.
It was known, also, that the king, after having manifested
the uneasiness with which Mile, de la Valliere's health had
inspired him, had turned pale, and trembled very much as
he received the beautiful girl fainting in his arms; so that
it was quite agreed among the courtiers that the greatest
event of the period had just been revealed; that his majesty
loved Mile, de la Valliere, and that, consequently. Monsieur
could now sleep in perfect tranquillity. It was this, even,
that the queen-mother, as surprised as the others by this
sudden change, hastened to tell the young queen and
Philippe d' Orleans. Only she set to work in a different
manner, by attacking them in the following way. To her
daughter-in-law she said, "See, now, Therese, how very
wrong you were to accuse the king'; now it is said he is de-
voted to some other person; why should there be any greater
truth in the report of to-day than in that of yesterday, or
in that of yesterday than in that of to-day?" To Monsieur,
in relating to him the adventure of the royal oak, she said,
"Are you not very absurd in your jealousies, my dear
Philip? It is asserted that the king is madly in love with
that little La Valliere. Say nothing of it to your wife; for
the queen will know all about it very soon." This latter
confidential communication had an immediate result.
Monsieur, who had regained his composure, went trium-
phantly to look after his wife, and as it was not yet mid-
night and the fete was to continue until two in the morn-
ing, he offered her his hand for a promenade. At the end

TEN YEARS LATER. 305

of a few panes, however, the first thing he did was to dis-
obey his mother's injunctions.

"Do not go and tell any one, the queen least of all," he
said mysteriously, "what people say about the king."

"What do they say about him?" inquired madame.

"That my brother has fallen suddenly in love."

"With whom?"

"With Mademoiselle de la Valliere." As it was dark,
madame could smile at her ease.

"Ah!" she said, "and how long is it since this has been
the case?"

"For some days, so it seems. But that was nothing but
pure nonsense; but it is only this evening that he has re-
vealed his passion."

"The king shows his good taste," said madame; "and in
my opinion she is a very charming girl."

"I verily believe you are jesting."

"I! in what way?"

"In any case this passion will make some one very happy,
even if it be only La Valliere herself."

"Really," continued the princess, "you speak as if you
had read into"" the inmost recesses of La Yalliere's heart.
Who has told you that she agrees to return the king's
affection?"

"And who has told you that she will not return it?"

"She loves the Vicomte de Bragelonne."

"You think so."

"She is even affianced to him."

"She was so."

"What do you mean?"

"When they went to ask the king's permission to arrange
the marriage he refused his permission."

"Refused?"

"Yes, although the request was preferred by the Comte
de la Fere himself, for whom the king has the greatest re-
gard, on account of the part he took in your brother's
restoration, and in other events, also, which happened a
long time ago."

"Well, the poor lovers must wait until the king is pleased
to change his opinion; they are young, and there is time
enough."

"But, dear me," said Philip, laughing, "I perceive that
you do not know the best part of the afEair."

"No!"

"That by which the king was most deeply touched."

306 TEN YEARS LATER.

"The king, do you say, has been deeply touched?*

•^'To the very heart."

"But how? in what manner? tell me directly."

"By an adventure, the romance of which cannot be
equaled."

"You know how I love such adventures, and yet you keep
me waiting," said the princess impatiently.

"Well, then — " and Monsieur paused.

"I am listening."

"Under the royal oak — you know where the royal oak is?"

"What can that matter? Under the royal oak, you were
saying."

"Well, Mademoiselle dela Valliere, fancying herself alone
with her two friends^ revealed to them her affection for the
king."

"Ah!" said madame, beginning to be uneasy, "her affec-
tion for the king?"

"Yes."

"When was this?"

"About an hour ago."

Madame started, and then said, "And no one knew of
this affection?"

"No one."

"Not even his majesty?"

"Not even his majesty. The little creature kept her
secret most strictly to herself, when suddenly it proved
stronger than herself, and so escaped her."

"And from whom did you get this absurd tale?"

"Why, as everybody else did, from La Valliere herself,
who confessed her love to Montalais and Tonnay-Charente,
who were her comijauions."

Madame stopped suddenly, and by a hasty movement let
go her husband's hand.

"Did you say it was an hour ago she made this confes-
sion?" madame inquired.

"About that time."

"Is the king aware of it?"

"Why, that is the very thing which constitutes the whole
romance of the affair, for the king was behind the royal oak
with St. Aignan, and he heard the whole of the interesting
conversation without losing a single word of it."

Madame felt struck to the heart, saying incautiously:
**But I have seen the king since, and he never told me a
word about it."

"Of course,'^ said Monsieur^ "he took care not to speak

TEN YEARS LATER. 307

of it to you himself, since he recommended every one not
to say a word about it to you."

"What do you mean?" said madame, irritated.

"I mean that they wished to keep you in ignorance of the
affair altogether."

"But why should they wish to conceal it from me?"

"From the fear that your friendship for the young queen
might induce you to say something about it to her, nothing
more."

Madame hung down her head; her feelings were grievously
wounded. She could not enjoy a moment's repose until
she had met the king. As a king is, most naturally, the
very last person in his kingdom who knows what is said
about him, in the same way that a lover is the only one who
is kept in ignorance of what is said about his mistress,
therefore, when the king perceived madame, who was look-
ing for him, he approached her somewhat disturbed, but
still gracious and attentive in his manner. Madame waited
for him to speak about La Valliere first; but as he did not
speak of her, she said, "And the poor girl?"

"What poor girl?" said the king.

"La Valliere. Did you not tell me, sire, that she had
fainted?"

"She is still very ill," said the king, affecting the great-
est indifference.

"But surely that will prejudicially affect the rumor you
were going to spread, sire?"

"What rumor?"

"That your attention was taken up by her."

"Oh!" said the king carelessly, "I trust it will be re-
ported all the same."

Madame still waited; she wished to know if the king
would speak to her of the adventure of the royal oak. But
the king did not say a word about it. Madame, on her
side, did not open her lips about the adventure, so that the
king took leave of her without having reposed the slightest
confidence in her. Hardly had she seen the king move
away than she set out in search of St. Aignan. St. Aignan
was never very difficult to find; he was like the smaller
vessels which always follow in the wake of, and as tenders
to, the larger ships. St. Aignan was the very man whom
madame needed in her then state of mind. And as for
him, he only looked for worthier ears than others he had
found, to have an opportunity of recounting the event with
all its details. And therefore he did not spare madame a

308 TEN YEARS LATER.

single word of the whole affair. When he had finished
madame said to him, "Confess, now, that it is all a charm-
ing invention."

"Invention, no; a true story, yes,'*

"Confess, whether invention or true story, that it was
told to you as you have told it to me, but that you were not
there."

"Upon my honor, madame, I was there."

"And you think that these confessions may have made
an impression upon the king?"

"Certainly, as those of Mademoiselle Tonnay-Charente
did upon me," replied St. Aignan; "do not forget, ma-
dame, that Mademoiselle de la Valliere compared the king
to the sun; that was flattering enough."

"The king does not permit himself to be influenced by
such flatteries."

"Madame, the king is just as much man as sun, and I
saw that plain enough just noAv when La Valliere fell into
his arms."

"La Valliere fell into the king's arms?"

"Oh! it was the most graceful picture possible; just
imagine. La Valliere had fallen back fainting, and "

"Well, what did you see? tell me — speak!"

"I saw what ten other people saw at the same time as
myself; I saw that when La Valliere fell into his arms the
king almost fainted himself."

Madame uttered a subdued cry, the only indication of her
smothered auger. "Thank you," she said, laughing in a
convulsive manner, "you relate stories delightfully. Mon-
sieur de St. Aignan." And she hurried away, alone and
almost suffocated by her feelings, toward the chateau.

CHAPTER XLIV.

COURSES DE NUIT.

Mo^TSiEUR had quitted the princess in the best possible
humor, and feeling very fatigued, had retired to his apart-
ments, leaving every one to finish the night as he chose.
When in his room, Monsieur began to dress for the night
with careful attention, which displayed itself from time to
time in paroxysms of satisfaction. While his attendants
were engaged in dressing him he sang the principal airs of
the ballet which the violins had played and to which the

TEN TEARS LATER. 309

king had danced. He then summoned his tailors, inspected
his costumes for the next day, and, in token of his extreme
satisfaction, distributed various presents among them. As,
however, the Chevalier de Lorraine, who had seen the prince
return to the chateau, entered the room. Monsieur over-
whelmed him with kindness. The former, after having
saluted the prince, remained silent for a moment, like a
sharpshooter who deliberates before deciding in what direc-
tion he will renew his fire; then, seeming to make up his
mind, he said, "Have you remarked a very singular circum-
stance, monseigneur?"

"No; what is it?"

"The bad reception which his majesty, in aj^pearance,
gave the Comte de Guiche."

"In appearance?"

"Yes, certainly; since, in reality, he has restored him to
favor."

"I did not notice it,'^ said the prince.

"What, did you not remark that, instead of ordering
him to return to his exile, as would have been natural, he
encouraged him in his opposition by permitting him to
resume his place in the ballet?"

"And you think the king was wrong, chevalier?" said
the prince.

"Are you not of my opinion, prince?"

"Not altogether so, my dear chevalier; and I think the
king was quite right not to have made a disturbance against a
poor fellow whose want of judgment is more to be com-
plained of than his intention."

"Really," said the chevalier, "as far as I am concerned,
I confess that this magnanimity astonishes me to the high-
est degree."

"Why so?" inquired Philip.

"Because I should have thought the king had been more
Jealous," replied the chevalier spitefully. During the last
few minutes Monsieur had felt there was something of an
irritating nature concealed under his favorite's remarks;
this last word, however, had ignited the powder.

"Jealous!" exclaimed the prince. "Jealous! what do
you mean? Jealous of what, if you please — or Jealous of
whom?"

The chevalier perceived that he had allowed one of those
mischievous remarks to escape him, as he was sometimes in
the habit of doing. He endeavored, therefore, to recall it
while it was still possible to do so. "Jealous of his author-

310 TEN TEARS LATER.

ity," he said, with an assumed frankness; ''of what else
would yon have the king be jealous?"

'*Ah!" said the prince, "that's very proper."

"Did your royal highness," continued the chevalier,
"solicit dear De Guiche's pardon?"

"No, indeed," said Monsieur. "De Guiche is an excel-
lent fellow, and full of courage; but as I do not approve of
his conduct with madame, I wish him neither harm nor
good."

The chevalier had assumed a bitterness with regard to
De Guiche, as he had attempted to do with the king; but
he thought that he perceived that the time for indulgence,
and even for the utmost indifference, had arrived, and that,
in order to throw some light on the question, it might be
necessary for him to put the lamp, as the saying is, under
the husband's nose even.

"Very well, very well," said the chevalier to himself; "I
shall wait for De Wardes; he will do more in one day than
I in a month; for I verily believe that he is still more
jealous than I am. Then, again, it is not De Wardes even
whom I require so much as that some event or another
should happen; and in the whole of this affair I see none.
That De Guiche returned after he had been sent away is
certainly serious enough, but all its seriousness disappears
when I learn that De Guiche has returned at the very
moment madame troubles herself no longer about him.
Madame, in fact, is occupied with the king, that is clear;
but she will not be so much longer if, as it is asserted, the
king has ceased to occupy himself about her. The result
of the whole matter is, to remain perfectly quiet, and await
the arrival of some new caprice, and let that decide the
whole affair." And the chevalier thereupon settled himself
resignedly in the armchair in which Monsieur permitted
him to seat himself in his presence, and, having no more
spiteful or malicious remarks to make, tne consequence was
that the chevalier's wit seemed to have deserted him. Most
fortunately Monsieur was endowed with great good-humor,
and he had enough for two, until the time arrived for dis-
missing the servants and genWemen of the chamber, and he
passed into his sleeping apartment. As he withdrew he
desired the chevalier to present his complimejits to madame,
and say that, as the night was cool. Monsieur, who was
afraid of the toothache, would not venture out again into
the park during the remainder of the evening. The cheva-
lier entered the princess' apartments at the very moment

TE]Sr YEARS LATER. 311

she entered them herself. He acquitted himself faithfully
of the commission which had been intrusted to him, and,
in the first place, remarked the indifference and annoyance
with which madame received her husband's communication
— a circumstance which appeared to him fraught with some-
thing quite fresh. If madame had been about to leave her
apartments with that strangeness of manner about her, he
would have followed her; but madame was returning to
them; there was nothing to be done; therefore he turned
upon his heel like an unemployed heron, seemed to question
earth, air, and water about it, shook his head, and walked
away mechanically in the direction of the gardens. He had
hardly gone a hundred paces when he met two young men,
walking arm in arm, with their heads bent down, and idly
kicking the small stones out of their path as they walked
on, plunged in thought. It was De Guiche and De Brage-
lonne, the sight of whom, as it always did, produced upon the
chevalier, instinctively, a feeling of great repugnance. He
did not, however, the less, on that account, salute them
with a very low bow, and which they returned with interest.
Then, observing that the park was becoming thinner, that
the illuminations began to burn out, and that the morning
breeze was setting in, he turned to the left, and entered the
chateau again, by one of the smaller courtyards. The
others turned aside to the right, and continued on their
way toward the large park. As the chevalier was ascending
the side staircase, which led to the private entrance, he saw
a woman, followed by another, make her appearance under
the arcade which led from the small to the large courtyard.
The two women walked so fast that the rustling of their
dresses could be distinguished in the darkness of the night.
The style of their mantelets, their graceful figures, a mys-
terious yet haughty carriage which distinguished them both,
especially the one who walked first, struck the chevalier.

"I certainly know those two persons," said he to himself,
pausing upon the top step of the small staircase. Then, as
with the instinct of a bloodhound he was about to follow
them, one of the servants who had been running after him
arrested his attention.

"Monsieur," he said, "the courier ha«i arrived."

"Very well," said the chevalier, "there is time enough;
to-morrow will do."

"There are some urgent letters which you would be glad
to see, perhaps."

"Where from?" inquired the chevalier.

312 TEK YEARS LATER.

"One from England, and the other from Calais; the
latter arrived by express, and seems of great importance."

"From Calais! Who the deuce can have written to me
from Calais?"

"I think I can recognize the handwriting of your friend
the Comte de Wardes."

"Oh!" cried the chevalier, forgetting his intention of
acting the spy, "in that case I will come up at once." This
he did, while the two unknown beings disappeared at the
end of the court opposite to the one by which they had just
entered. We shall now follow them, and leave the cheva-
lier undisturbed to his correspondence. When they had
arrived at the grove of trees, the foremost of the two halted,
somewhat out of breath, and cautiously raising her hood,
said, "Are we still far from the tree?"

"Yes, madame; more than five hundred paces; but pray
rest awhile, you will not be able to walk much longer at
this pace."

"You are right," said the princess, for it was she; and
she leaned against a tree. "And now," she resumed, after
having recovered her breath, "tell me the whole truth, and
conceal nothing from me."

"Oh, madame!" said the young girl, "you are already
angry with me."

"No, my dear Athenais; reassure yourself, I am in no way
angry with you. After all, these things do not concern me
personally. You are anxious about what you may have
said under the oak; you are afraid of having offended the
king, and I wish to tranquillize you by ascertaining myself
if it were possible you could have been overheard."

"Oh, yes, madame, the king was so close to us."

"Still, you were not speaking so loud that some of your
remarks may not have been lost."

"We thought we were quite alone, madame."

"There were three of you, you say?"

"Yes; La Valliere, Montalais, and myself."

"And you, individually, spoke in a light manner of the
king?"

"I am afraid so. Should such be the case, will your
highness have the kindness to make my peace with his
majesty?"

"If there should be any occasion for it, I promise you to
do so. However, as I have already told you, it will be
better not to anticipate evil, and to be quite sure that evil
has been committed. The night is now very dark, and the

TEN YEARS LATER. 313

darkness is still greater under those large trees. It is not
likely you were recognized by the king. To inform him of
it, by being the first to speak, is to denounce yourself."

"Oh, madame! madame! if Mademoiselle de la Valliere
were recognized, I must have been recognized also. Be-
sides, Monsieur de St. Aignan did not leave a doubt on the
subject."

"Did you, then, say 'anything very disrespectful of the
king?"

"Not at all so; it was one of the others who made some
very flattering remarks about the king, and my remarks
will have been so much in contrast with hers."

"That Montalais is such a giddy girl," said madame.

"It was not Montalais. Montalais said nothing; it was
La Valliere."

Madame started as if she had not known it perfectly
already. "No, no," she said, "the king cannot have
heard. Besides, we will now try the experiment for which
we came out. Show me the oak. Do you know where it
is?" she continued.

"Alas! madame, yes."

"And you can find it again?"

"With my eyes shut."

"Very well; sit down on the bank where you were, where
La Valliere was, and speak in the tone and to the same
effect as you did before; I will conceal myself in the thicket,
and if I can hear you I will tell you so."

"Yes, madame."

"If, therefore, you really spoke sufficiently loud for the
king to have heard you, in that case "

Athenais seemed to await the conclusion of the phrase
with some anxiety.

"In that case," said madame, in a suffocated Toice, aris-
ing doubtless from her hurried progress; "in that case I
forbid you — " And madame again increased her pace.
Suddenly, however, she stopped. "An idea occurs to me,"
she said.

"A good idea, no doubt, madame," replied Mile, de
Tonnay-Charente.

"Montalais must be as much embarrassed as La Valliere
and yourself."

"Less so, for she is less compromised, having said less."

"That does not matter; she will help you, I dare say, by
deviating a little from the exact truth."

"Especially if she knows that your highness is kind
enough to interest yourself about me."
Dumas— Vol. XV. 14=

314 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Very well; I think I have discovered what we want."

"How delightful."

"You will say that all three of you were perfectly well
aware that the king was behind the tree, or behind the
thicket, whichever it might have been; and that you knew
Monsieur de St. Aignan was there too."

"Yes, madanie."

"For you cannot disguise it from yourself, Athenais, St.
Aignan takes advantage of some very flattering remarks
which you made about him."

"Well, madame, you see very well that one can be over-
heard," cried Athenais, "since Monsieur de St. Aignan
overheard us."

Madame bit her lips, for she had thoughtlessly committed
herself. "Oh, you know St. Aignan's character very well,"
she said; "the favor the king shows him almost turns his
brain, and he talks at random; not only that, he very often
invents. That is not the question; the fact remains. Did
or did not the king overhear?"

"Oh, yes, madame, he did hear," said Athenais, in
despair.

"In that case, do what I said: maintain boldly that all
three of you knew — mind, all three of you, for if there is a
doubt about any one of you, there will be a doubt about all
— persist, I say, that you knew that the king and Monsieur
de St. Aignan were there, and that you wished to amuse
yourselves at the expense of those who were listening."

"Oh, madame, at the king's expense; we never dare say
that!"

"It is a simple jest, an innocent deception readily per-
mitted in young girls whom men wish to take by surprise.
In this manner everything is explained. What Montalais
said of Malicorne, a mere jest; what you said of Monsieur
de St. Aignan, a mere jest, too; and what La Valliere
might have said of "

"And which she would have given anything to have
recalled."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Perfectly so."

"Very well; an additional reason, therefore. Say the
whole affair was a mere joke. Monsieur de Malicorne will
have no occasion to get out of temper; Monsieur de St.
Aignan will be completely put out of countenance, he will
be laughed at instead of you; and, lastly, the king will be
punished for a curiosity which was unworthy of his rank.

TEN TEARS LATER. 315

Let people laugh a little at the king in this affair, and I do
not think he will complain of it."

"Oh, madame, you are indeed an angel of goodness and
sense!"

"It is to my own advantage."

"In what way?"

"Do you ask me why it is to my advantage to spare my
maids of honor the remarks, annoyances, and perhaps even
calumnies, which might follow? Alas! you well know that
the court has no indulgence for this sort of i3ecadilloes.
But we have now been walking for some time; shall we be
long before we reach it?"

"About fifty or sixty paces further; turn to the left,
madame, if you please."

"And so you are sure of Montalais?" said madame.

"Oh, certainly."

"Will she do what you ask her?"

"Everything. She will be delighted."

"As for La Valliere — " ventured the princess.

"Ah, there will be some difficulty with her, madame; she
'would scorn to tell a falsehood."

"Yet, when it is her interest to do so "

"I am afraid that that would not make the slightest
difference in her ideas."

"Yes, yes," said madame, "I have been already told that;
she is one of those overnice and affected, particular persons
who place heaven in the foreground to conceal themselves
behind it. But if she refuse to tell a falsehood — as she will
expose herself to the jestings of the whole court — as she
will have annoyed the king by a confession as ridiculous as
it was immodest — Mademoiselle de la Baume le Blanc de la
Valliere will think it but proper that I should send her
back again to lier pigeons in the country, in order that, in
Touriane yonder, or in Le Blaisois — I know not where it
may be, she may at her ease study sentiment and a pastoral
life together." These words were uttered with a
vehemence and harshness which terrified Mile, de Tonnay-
Charente; and the consequence was, that, as far as she was
concerned, she promised to tell as many falsehoods as might
be necessary. It was in this amiable frame of mind, respec-
tively, that madame and her companion reached the pre-
cincts of the royal oak.

"Here we are," said Tonnay-Charente.

"We shall soon learn if one can overhear," replied
madame.

316 TEK TEARS LATER.

"Hush!" said the young girl, holding madame back with
a hurried gesture, entirely forgetful of her companion's
rank. Madame stopped.

"You see that you can hear," said Athenais.

"How?"

"Listen."

Madame held her breath; and, in fact, the following
words, pronounced by a gentle and melancholy voice, floated
toward them:

"I tell you, vicomte, I tell you I love her madly; I tell
you I love her to distraction."

Madame started at the voice; and, beneath her hood, a
bright joyous smile illumined her features. It was she who
now stayed her companion, and with a light footstep lead-
ing her some twenty paces back, that is to say, out of the
reach of the voice, she said, "Eemain there, my dear
Athenais, and let no one surprise us. I think it may be you
they are conversing about."

"Me, madame?"

"Yes, you — or rather, your adventure. I will go and
listen; if we were both there we should be discovered. Gro
and fetch Moutalais, and then return and wait for me with
her at the entrance of the forest." And then, as Athenais
hesitated, she again said, "GoJ" in a voice which did not
admit of a reply. Athenais thereupon arranged her dress
so as to prevent its rustling being heard, and by a path
which crossed the group of trees, she regained the flower-
garden. As for madame, she concealed herself in the
thicket, leaning her back against a gigantic chestnut-tree,
one of the branches of which had been cut iu a manner to
form a seat, and waited there full of anxiety and apprehen-
sion. "Now," she said, "since one can hear from this
place, let us listen to what Monsieur de Bragelonne and
that other madly in love fool, the Comte de Gruiche, have to
say about me."

CHAPTEE XLV.

I]Sr WHICH MADAME ACQUIRES A PROOF THAT LISTENERS
CAN HEAR WHAT IS SAID.

There was a moment's silence, as if all the mysterious
sounds of night were hushed to listen, at the same time as
madame, to the youthful and passionate disclosures of De
Guiche.

TEN YEARS LATER. 317

It was Raonl who was about to speak. He loaned in-
dolently against the trunk of the large oak, and replied in
his sweet and musical voice, ''Alas, my dear De Guiche, it
is a great misfortune."

"Yes," cried the latter, ''great indeed."

"You do not understand me, De Guiche. I say that it
is a great misfortune for you, not that of loving, but that
of not knowing how to conceal your love."

"What do you mean?" said De Guiche.

"Yes, you do not perceive one thing, namely, that it is
no longer to the only friend you have — in other words, to
a man who would rather die than betray you — you do not
perceive, I say, that it is no longer to your only friend that
you confide your passion, but to the first one who approaches
you."

"Are you mad, Bragelonne," exclaimed De Guiche, "to
say such a thing to me?"

"The fact is so, however."

"Impossible! How, in what manner could I have become
indiscreet to such an extent?"

"I mean, that your eyes, your looks, your sighs, speak,
in spite of yourself, that every exaggerated feeling leads
and hurries a man beyond his own control. In such a case
he ceases to be master of himself; he is a prey to a mad
passion, which makes him confide his grief to the trees, or
to the air, from the very moment he has no longer any liv-
ing being within reach of his voice. Besides, remember
this: it very rarely happens that there is not always some
one present to hear, especially those very things which
ought not to be heard." De Guiche uttered a deep sigh.
"Nay," continued Bragelonne, "you distress me; since your
return here you have a thousand times, and in a thousand
different ways, confessed your love for her; and yet, had
you not said anything, your return would alone have been
a terrible indiscretion. I persist, then, in drawing this
conclusion: that if you do not place a greater watch over
yourself than you have hitherto done, one day or another
something will happen which will cause an explosion.
Who will save you then? Answer me. Who will save her?
for, innocent as she will be of your affection, your affec-
tion will be an accusation against her in the hands of her
enemies."

"Alas!" murmured De Guiche; and a deep sigh accom-
panied the exclamation.

"That is not answering me, De Guiche."

S18 TE]S^ YEARS LATER.

"Yes, yes.''

*'Well, what reply have you to make?"

"This, that when^the day arrives I shall not be less a
living being than I feel myself to be now."

"I do not understand you."

"So many vicissitudes have worn me out. At present, I
am no more a thinking, acting being; at present, the most
worthless of men is better than I am; therefore, my re-
maining strength is now exhausted, my latest-formed resolu-
tions have vanished, and I abandon myself to my fate. "When
a man is out campaigning, as we have been together, and he
sets off alone and unaccompanied for a skirmish, it sometimes
happens that he may meet with a party of five or six foragers,
and although alone, he defends himself; afterward, five or
six others arrive unexpectedly, his anger is aroused, and he
persists; but if six, eight, or ten others should still be met
with, he either sets spurs to his horse, if he should still
happen to retain it, or lets himself be slain, to save an
ignominious flight. Such, indeed, is my own case. First,
I had to struggle against myself; afterward, against Buck-
ingham; now, since the king is in the field, I will not con-
tend against the king, nor even, I wish you to understand,
will the king retire; nor even against the nature of that
woman. Still I do not deceive myself; having devoted
myself to the service of that affection, I will lose my life
in it."

"It is not her you ought to reproach," replied Eaoul; "it
is yourself."

"Why so?"

"You know the princess' character — somewhat giddy,
easily captivated by novelty, susceptible to flattery, whether
it come from a blind person or a child, and yet you allow
your passion for her to eat your very life away. Look at
her — love her, if you will — for no one whose heart is not
engaged elsewhere can see her without loving her. Yet,
while you love her, respect, in the first place, her husband's
rank, then himself, and, lastly, your own safety."

"Thanks, Eaoul."

"For what?"

"Because, seeing how much I suffer from this woman,
you endeavor to console me, because you tell me all the
good of her you think, and perhaps even that which you do
not think."

"Oh," said Eaoul, "there you are wrong, De Guiche;
what I think I do not always say, but in that case I say

TEN YEAES LATER. 319

nothing; but when I speak I know not either how to feign
or to deceive, and whoever listens to me may believe me,"

During this conversation madame, her head stretched
forward with eager ear and dilated glance, endeavoring to
]3enetrate the obscurity, thirstily drank in the faintest
sound of their voices.

"Oh, I know her better than you do, then!" exclaimed
De Guiche. "She is not giddy, but frivolous; she is not
attracted by novelty, she is utterly oblivious, and is without
faith; she is not simply susceptible to flattery, she is a
practiced and cruel coquette. A thorough coquette! yes,
yes, I am sure of it. Believe me, Bragelonne, I am suffer-
ing all the torments of hell; brave, passionately fond of
danger, I meet a danger greater than my strength and my
courage. But believe me, Raoul, I reserve for myself a
victory which shall cost her floods of tears."

"A victory," he asked, '"'of what kind?"

"Of what kind, you ask?"

"Yes."

"One day I will accost her, and will address her thus: 'I
was young — madly in love; I possessed, however, suflBicient
respect to throw myself at your feet, and to prostrate my-
self with my forehead buried in the dust, if your looks had
not raised me to your hand. I fancied I understood your
looks, I arose, and then, without having done anything
toward you than love you yet more devotedly, if that were
possible — you, a woman without heart, faith, or love, in
very wantonness of disposition, dashed me down again from
mere caprice. You are unworthy, princess of the royal
blood though you may be, of the love of a man of honor; I
offer my life as a sacrifice for having loved you too tenderly,
and I die hating you.' "

"Oh!" cried Raoul, terrified at the accents of profound
truth which De Quiche's words betrayed, "I was right in
saying you were mad, De Guiche."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed De Guiche, following out his own
idea; "since there are no wars here now, I will flee yonder,
to the north, seek service in the empire, where some
Hungarian, or Croat, or Turk will perhaps kindly put me
out of my misery at once." De Guiche did not finish, or
rather, as he finished, a sound made him start, and at the
same moment made Raoul leap to his feet. As for De
Guiche, buried in his own thoughts, he remained seated,
with his head tightly pressed between his hands. The
branches of the trees were pushed aside, and a woman, pale

320 TE2T TEARS LATER.

and much agitated, appeared before the ayo young men.
With one hand she held back the branches, -which would
have struck her face, and with the other she raised the
hood of the mantle which covered her shoulders. By her
clear and lustrous glance, by her lofty carriage, by her
haughty attitude, and, more than all, by the throbbing of
his own heart, De Guiche recognized madame, and, utter-
ing a loud cry, he removed his hands from his temples, and
covered his eyes with them. Eaoul, trembling and out of
countenance, merely muttered a few formal words of respect.

"Monsieur de Bragelonne,'' said the princess, "have the
goadness, I beg, to see if my attendants are not somewhere
yonder, either in the walks or in the groves; and you. Mon-
sieur de Guiche, remain here; I am tired, and you will per-
haps give me your arm."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of the unhappy
young man he would have been less terrified than by her
cold and severe tone. However, as he himself had just said,
he was brave; and as in the depths of his own heart he had
Just decisively made up his mind, De Guiche arose, and,
observing Bragelonne's hesitation, he turned toward him a
glance full of resignation and of grateful acknowledgment.
Instead of immediately answering madame, he even ad-
vanced a step toward the vicomte,- and holding out toward
him the hand which the princess had just desired him to
give her, he pressed his friend's hand in his own with a
sigh, in which he seemed to give to friendship all life that
was left in the depths of his heart. Madame, who in her
pride had never known what it was to wait, now waited
until this mute colloquy was ended. Her royal hand re-
mained suspended in the air, and when Eaoul had left, it
sank without anger, but not without emotion, in that of
De Guiche. They were alone in the depths of the dark
and silent forest, and nothing could be heard but Eaoul's
hastily retreating footsteps along the obscure paths. Over
their heads was extended the thick and fragrant vault of
branches, through the occasional openings of which the
stars could be seen glittering in their beauty. Madame
softly drew De Guiche about a hundred paces away from
that indiscreet tree which had heard, and had allowed so
many things to be heard, during that evening, and leading
him to a neighboring glade, so that they could see a certain
distance around them, she said in a trembling voice, "I
have brought you here, because yonder where you were
everything can be overheard."

TEN YEARS LATER. 321

"Everything can be overheard, did yoa say, madame?"
replied the young man mechanically.

"Yes."

"Which means — " murmured De Guiche.

"Which means that I have heard every syllable you have
said."

"Oh, Heaven! this only was wanting to destroy me,"
stammered De Guiche; and he bent down his head, like an
exhausted swimmer beneath the wave which ingulfs him.

"And so," she said, "you judge me as you have said."

De Guiche grew pale, turned his head aside, and was
silent; he felt almost on the point of fainting.

"I do not complain," continued the princess, in a tone
of voice full of gentleness; "I prefer a frankness which
wounds me to flattery which would deceive me. And so,
according to your opinion. Monsieur de Guiche, I am a
coquette and a worthless creature."

"Worthless!" cried the young man; "you worthless! No,
no; most certainly I did not say, I could not have said,
that that which was the most precious object in life for me
could be worthless. No, no; I did not say that!"

"A woman who sees a man perish, consumed by the lire
she has kindled, and who does not allay>that fire is, in my
opinion, a worthless woman."

"What can it matter to you what I said?" returned the
comte. "What am I compared to you, and why should you
even trouble yourself to know whether I exist or not?'"

"Monsieur de Guiche, both you and I are human beings,
and, knowing you as I do, I do not wish you to risk your
life; with you I will change my conduct and character. I
will be, not frank, for I am always so, but truthful. I im-
plore you, therefore, to love me no more, and to forget
utterly that I have ever addressed a word or a glance
toward you."

De Guiche turned round, bending a look full of pas-
sionate devotion upon her. "You," he said; "you excuse
yourself; you implore me!"

"Certainly; since I have done the evil, I ought to repair
the evil I have done. And so, comte, this is what we have
agreed to. You will forgive my frivolity and my coquetry.
Nay, do not interrupt me. I will forgive you for having
said I was frivolous and a coquette, or something worse,
perhaps; and you will renounce your idea of dying, and
will preserve for your family, for the king, and for our sex,
a cavalier whom every one esteems, and whom many hold
dear."

323 TEN" YEARS LATER.

Madame prononnced these last words in such an accent
of frankness, and even of tenderness, that poor De Guiche's
heart felt almost bursting.

"Oh! madame, madame!" he stammered out.

"Nay, listen further," she continued. "When you shall
have renounced all thought of me forever, from necessity
in the first place, and, afterward, because you will yield to
my entreaty, then you will judge me more favorably, and I
am convinced you will replace this love — forgive the folly
of the expression — by a sincere friendship, which you will
be ready to offer me, and which, I promise you, shall be
cordially accepted."

De Guiche, his forehead bedewed with perspiration, a feel-
ing of death in his heart, and a trembling agitation through
his whole frame, bit his lip, stamped his foot on the ground,
and, in a word, devoured the bitterness of his grief. "Ma-
dame," he said, "what you offer is impossible, and I can-
not accept such coBditions."

"What!" said madame, "do you refuse my friendship?"

"No, no! I need not your friendship, madame; I prefer
to die from love than to live for friendship."

"Comte!"

"Oh! madame," cried De Guiche,"the present is a mo-
ment for me, in which no other consideration and no other
respect exists, than the respect of a man of honor toward
the woman he worships. Drive me away, curse me, de-
nounce me, you will be perfectly right; I have uttered com-
plaints against you, but their bitterness has been owing to
my passion for you; I have said that I would die, and die I
shall. If I lived, you would forget me; but dead, you would
never forget me, I am sure."

And yet she, who was standing buried in thought, and as
agitated as De Guiche himself, turned aside her head as he
but a minute before had turned aside his. Then, after a
moment's pause, she said, "And you love me, then, very
much?"

"Madly; madly enough to die from it, whether you drive
me from you or whether you listen to me still."

"It is, therefore, a hopeless case," she said, in a playful
manner; "a case which must be treated with soothing ap-
plications. Give me your hand. It is as cold as ice."

De Guiche knelt down, and pressed to his lips, not one,
but both of madame^s hands.

"Love me then,*' said the princess, "since it cannot be
otherwise.'^ And almost imperceptibly she pressed his

TEN YEAES LATER. 323

fingers, raising him thus, partly in the manner of a queen,
and partly as a fond and affectionate woman would have
done. De Guiche trembled throughout, from head to foot,
and madame, who felt how passion coursed through every
fiber of his being, knew that he indeed loved truly. "Give
me your arm, comte,'^ she said, "and let us return."

"Ah! madame," said the comte, trembling and be-
wildered; "youhave discovered a third way of killing me."

"But, happily, it is the longest, is it not?" she replied,
as she led him toward the grove of trees she had left.

CHAPTER XLVI.

ARAMIS' CORRESPONDENCE.

"While De Guiche's affairs, which had been suddenly set
to rights without his having been able to guess the cause of
their iniisrovement, assumed that unexpected change which
we have seen, Eaoul, in obedience to the request of H. R.
H., had withdrawn in order not to interrupt an explana-
tion, the results of which he was far from guessing, and he
had joined the ladies of honor who were walking about in
the flower-gardens. During this time the Chevalier de
Lorraine, who had returned to his own room, read De
Wardes' letter with surprise, for it informed him, by the
hand of his valet, of the sword-thrust received at Calais,
and of all the details of the adventure, and invited him to
communicate to De Guiche and to Monsieur, whatever there
might be in the affair likely to be most disagreeable to both
of them. De Wardes particularly endeavored to prove to
the chevalier the violence of madame's affection for Buck-
ingham, and he finished his letter by declaring that he
thought this feeling was returned. The chevalier shrugged
his shoulders at the latter paragraph, and, in fact, De
Wardes was very much behindhand, as may have been seen.
De Wardes was still only at Buckingham's affair. The
chevalier threw the letter over his shoulder upon an adjoin-
ing table, and said in a disdainful tone: "It is really in-
credible; and yet poor De Wardes is not deficient in ability;
but the truth is, it is not very apparent, so easy is it to grow
rusty in the country. The deuce take the simpleton, who
ought to have written to me about matters of importance,
and who writes such silly stuff as that. If it had not been
for that miserable letter, which has no meaning at all in it.

324 TEN" YEARS LATER.

I should have detected in the grove yonder a charming
little intrigue, which would have compromised a woman,
would have perhaps been as good as a svvord-thrust ix>T a
man, and have diverted Monsieur for some days to come."

He looked at his watch. "It is now too late," he said.
"One o'clock in the morning; everyone must have returned
to the king's apartments, where the night is to be finished;
well, the scene is lost, and unless some extraordinary
chance — " And thus saying, as if to appeal to his good
star, the chevalier, much out of temper, approached the
window, which looked out upon a somewhat solitary part
of the garden. Immediately, and as if some evil genius had
been at his orders, he perceived returning toward the
chateau, accompanied by a man, a silk mantle of a dark
color, and recognized the figure which had struck his atten-
tion half an hour previously.

"Admirable!" he thought, striking his hands together,
"this is my mysterious affair." And he started out precipi-
tately along the staircase, hoping to reach the courtyard in
time to recognize the woman in the mantle, and her com-
panion. But as he arrived at the door in the little court,
he nearly knocked against madame, whose radiant face
seemed full of charming revelations beneath the mantle
which protected without concealing her. Unfortunately,
madame was alone. The chevalier knew that since he had
seen her, not five minutes before, with a gentleman, the
gentleman in question could not be far off. Consequently,
he hardly took time to salute the princess as he drew up, to
allow her to pass; then when she had advanced a few steps,
with the rapidity of a woman who fears recognition; and
when the chevalier perceived that she was too much occu-
pied with her own thoughts to trouble herself about him,
he darted into the garden, looked hastily round on every
side, and embraced within his glance as much of the hori-
zon as he possibly could. He was just in time: the gentle-
man who had accompanied madame was still in sight; only
he was rapidly hurrying toward one of the wings of the
chateau, behind which he was just on the point of disap-
pearing. There was not a minute to lose; the chevalier
darted in pursuit of him, prepared to slacken his pace as he
approached the unknown; but in spite of the diligence he
used, the unknown had disappeared behind the flight of
steps before he approached.

It was evident, however, that as he whom the chevalier
pursued was walking quietly, in a very pensive manner.

h

TEN YEARS LATER. 325

with his head bent down, either beneath the weight of grief
or of happiness, when once the angle was passed, unless,
indeed, he were to enter by some door or another, the
chevalier could not fail to overtake him. And this cer-
tainly would have happened, if, at the very moment he
turned the angle, the chevalier had not run against two
persons, who were themselves turning it in the opposite direc-
tion. The chevalier was quite ready to seek a quarrel with
these two troublesome intruders, when looking up he recog-
nized the surintendant. Fouquet was accompanied by a
person whom the chevalier now saw for the first time. The
stranger was His Grace the Bishop of Vannes. Checked by
the important character of the individual, and obliged from
politeness to make his own excuses when he expected to
receive them, the chevalier stej)ped back a few paces; and
as M. Fouquet possessed, if not the frieudship, at least the
respect of every one; as the king himself, although he was
rather his enemy than his friend, treated M. Fouquet as a
man of great distinction, the chevalier did what the king
would have done, namely, he bowed to M. Fouquet, who
returned his salutation with kindly politeness, perceiving
that the gentleman had run against him by mistake, and
without any intention of being rude. Then, almost imme-
diately afterward, having recognized the Chevalier de Lor-
raine, he made a few civil remarks, to which the chevalier
was obliged to reply. Brief as the conversation was, the
Chevalier de Lorraine saw, with the most unfeigned dis-
pleasure, the figure of his unknown becoming less and less
in the distance, and fast disappearing in the darkness. The
chevalier resigned himself, and, once resigned, gave his
entire attention to Fouquet: "You arrive late, monsieur,''
he said. "Your absence has occasioned great surprise, and
I heard Monsieur express himself as much astonished that,
having been invited tjy the king, you had not come."

"It was impossible for me to do so; but I came as soon as
I was free."

"Is Paris quiet?"

"Perfectly so. Paris has received the last tax very well."

"Ah! I understand, you wished to assure yourself of this
good feeling before you came to participate in our fetes."

"I have arrived, however, somewhat late to enjoy them.
I will ask you, therefore, to inform me if the king is within
the chateau or not, if I shall be able to see him this even-
ing, or if I am to wait until to-morrow."

"We have lost sight of his majesty during the last half
hour nearly," said the chevalier.

326 TEN TEAKS LATER.

''Perhaps he is iu madame's apartments/' inquired
Fouquet.

"Not in madame's apartments, I should think, for I have
just met madame as she was entering by the small staircase;
and unless the gentleman whom you just now passed was
the king himself — " and the chevalier paused, hoping that,
in this manner, he might learn who it was he had been
hurrying after. But Fouquet, whether he had or not
recognized De Guiche, simply replied:

"No, monsieur, it was not he."

The chevalier, disappointed in his expectation, saluted
them; but as he did so, casting a parting glance around
him, and perceiving M. Colbert in the center of a group,
he said to thesurintendant: "Stay, monsieur; there is some
one under the trees yonder who will be able to inform you
better than myself."

"Who?" asked Fouquet, whose near-sightedness pre-
vented his seeing through the darkness.

"Monsieur Colbert," returned the chevalier.

"Indeed! That person, then, who is speaking yonder to
those men with torches in their hands, is Monsieur Colbert?"

"Monsieur Colbert himself. He is giving his orders per-
sonally to the workmen who are arranging the lamps for
the illuminations."

"Thank you," said Fouquet, with an inclination of the
head which indicated that he had obtained all the informa-
tion he wished. The chevalier, on his side, having, on the
contrary, learned nothing at all, withdrew with a profound
salutation.

He had scarcely left when Fouquet, knitting his brows, fell
in a deep reverie. Aramis looked at him for a moment with
a mingled feeling of compassion and sadness. "What!" he
said to him, "that man's name alone seemed to affect you.
Is it possible that, full of triumph and delight as you were
just now, the sight merely of that man is capable of dis-
piriting you? Tell me, have you faith in your good star?"

"No," replied Fouquet dejectedly.

"Why not?"

"Because I am too full of happiness at this present
moment," he replied in a trembling voice. "You, my
dear D'Herblay, who are so learned, will remember the his-
tory of a certain tyrant of Samos. What can I throw into
the sea to avert approaching evil? Yes; I repeat it once
more, I arn too full of happiness! so happy that I wish for
nothing beyond what I have. . . ■, I have risen so high.

TEN YEARS LATER. '627

. . . You know my motto: 'Q71.0 non ascendarnV I
have risen so high that nothing is left me but to descend
from my elevation. I cannot believe in the progress of a
success which is already more than human."

Aramis smiled as he fixed his kind and penetrating glance
upon him. "If I were aware of the cause of your happi-
ness," he said, "I should probably fear for your disgrace;
but you regard me in the light of a true friend; I mean,
you turn to me in misfortune, nothing more. Even that is
an immense and precious boon, I know; but the truth is, I
have a just right to beg you to confide in me, from time to
time, any fortunate circumstances which may befall you,
and in which I should rejoice, you know, more than if they
had befallen myself."

"My dear prelate," said Fouquet, laughing, "my secrets
are of too jDrofane a character to confide them to a bishop,
however great a worldling he may be."

"Bah! in confession."

"Or I should blush too much if you were my confessor,"
And Fouquet began to sigh. Aramis again looked at him
without any other betrayal of his thoughts than a quiet
smile.

"Well," he said, "discretion is a great virtue."

"Silence," said Fouquet; "that venomous beast has
recognized us, and is coming this way."

"Colbert?"

"Yes; leave me, D'Herblay; 1 do not wish that fellow to
see you with me, or he will take an aversion to you."

Aramis pressed his hand, saying, "What need have I of
his friendship, while you are here?"

"Yes, but I may not be always here," replied Fouquet
dejectedly.

"On that day, then, if that day should ever come," said
Aramis tranquilly, "we will think over a means of dispens-
ing with the friendship, or of braving the dislike of Mon-
sieur Colbert. But tell me, my dear Fouquet, instead of
conversing with this fellow, as you did him the honor to
style him, a conversation the utility of which I do not per-
ceive, why do you not pay a visit, if not to the king, at
least to madame?"

"To madame?" said the surintendant, his mind occupied
by his souvenirs.

"Yes, certainly, to madame."

"You remember," continued Aramis, "that we have been
told that madame stands high in favor during the last two

338 TEN" YEARS LATER,

or three days. It enters into your policy, and forms part
of our plans, that you should assiduously devote yourself to
his majesty's friends. It is a means of counteracting' the
growing influence of Monsieur Colbert. Present yourself,
therefore, as soon as possible to madame, and, for our sakes,
treat this ally with consideration."

"But," said Fouquet, "are you quite sure that it is upon
her the king has his eyes fixed at the present moment?"

"If the needle has turned, it must be since the morning.
You know I have my police."

"Very well. I go there at once, and, at all events, I
shall have a means of introduction in the shape of a mag-
nificent pair of antique cameos set round with diamonds."

"I have seen them, and nothing could be more costly and
regal."

At this moment they were interrupted by a servant fol-
lowed by a courier.

"For you, monseigneur," said the courier, aloud, pre-
senting a letter to Fouquet.

"For your grace," said the lackey, iu a low tone, hand-
ing Aramis a letter.

And as the lackey carried a torch in his hand, he placed
himself between the surintendant and the Bishop of Yannes,
so that both of them could read at the same time. As Fou-
quet looked at the fine and delicate writing on the envelope,
he started with delight; they who love, or who are beloved,
will understand his anxiety in the first place, and his hap-
piness in the next. He hastily tore open the letter, which,
however, contained only these words:

"It is but an hour since I quitted you, it is an age since I
told you that I love you."

And that was all. Mme. de Belliere had, in fact, left
Fouquet about an hour previously, after having jDassed two
days with him; and, apprehensive lest his remembrance of
her might not be effaced for too long a period from the
heart she regretted, she dispatched a courier to him as the
bearer of this important communication. Fouquet kissed
the letter, and rewarded the bearer with a handful of gold.
As for Aramis, he, on his side, was engaged in reading, but
with more coolness and reflection, the following letter:

"The king has this evening been struck with a strange
fancy; a woman loves him. He learned it accidentally, as he
was listening to the conversation of this young girl with

TEli YEARS LATER. 339

her companions; and his majesty has entirely abandoned
himself to this new caprice. The girl's name is Made-
moiselle de la Valliere, and she is sufficiently pretty to
warrant this caprice becoming a strong attachment. Be-
ware of Mademoiselle de la Valliere."

There was not a word about madame. Aramis slowly
folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Fouquet was
still engaged in inhaling the perfume of his epistle.

"Monseignenr," said Aramis, touching Fouquet's arm.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked.

"An idea has just occurred to me. Are you acquainted
with a young girl of the name of La Valliere?"

"Not at all."

"Reflect a little."

"Ah, yes, I believe so; one of madame's maids of honor."

"That must be the one."

"Well, what then?"

"Well, monseigneur, it is to that young girl that you
must pay your visit this evening."

"Bah! why so?"

"Nay, more than that, it is to her you must present your
cameos."

"Nonsense."

"You know, monseigneur, that my advice is not to be
regarded lightly."

"Yet this was unforeseen "

"That is my affair. Pay your court in due form, and
without loss of time, to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. I
will be your guarantee with Mme. de Belliere that your
devotion is altogether politic."

"What do you mean, my dear D'Herblay, and whose
name have you Just pronounced?"

"A name which ought to convince you that, as I am so
well informed about yourself, I may possibly be as well in-
formed about others. Pay your court, therefore, to La
Valliere."

"I will pay my court to whomsoever you like," replied
Fouquet, his heart filled with happiness.

"Come, come; descend again to the earth, traveler of the
seventh heaven," said Aramis. "Monsieur de Colbert is
approaching. He has been recruiting while we were read-
ing; see how he is surrounded, praised, congratulated; he is
decidedly becoming powerful."

In fact, Colbert was advancing, escorted by all the cour-

330 TEN YEARS LATER.

tiers who remained in the gardens, every one of whom com-
plimented him upon the arrangements of the fete, and
which so puffed him up that he could hardly contain him-
self.

''If La Fontaine were here," said Fouquet, smiling,
"what an admirable opportunity for him to recite his fable
of 'The Frog that wished to make itself as big as the Ox!' "

Colbert arrived in the center of the circle blazing with
light, Fouquet awaited his approach, unmoved, and with a
slightly mocking smile. Colbert smiled, too; he had been
observing his enemy during the last quarter of an hour, and
had been approaching him gradually. Colbert's smile was
a presage of hostility.

"Oh, oh!" said Aramis, in a low tone, to the surin-
tendant; "the scoundrel is going to ask you again for a few
more millions to pay for his fireworks and his colored
lamps."

Colbert was the first to salute them, and with an air
which he endeavored to render respectful. Fouquet hardly
moved his head.

"Well, monseigneur, what do your eyes say? Have we
shown our good taste?"

"Perfect taste," replied Fouquet, without permitting
the slightest tone of raillery to be remarked in his words.

"Oh!" said Colbert maliciously, "you are treating us
with indulgence. We are poor, w^e other servants of the
king, and Fontainebleau is in no way to be compared as a
residence with Vaux."

"Quite true," replied Fouquet coolly.

"But what can we do, monseigneur?" continued Colbert;
"we have done our best with our slender resources."

Fouquet made a gesture of assent.

"But," pursued Colbert, "it would be only a proper dis-
play of your magnificence, monseigneur, if you were to
offer to his majesty a/e^e in your wonderful gardens — in
those gardens which have cost you sixty millions of francs."

"Seventy-two," said Fouquet.

"An additional reason," returned Colbert; "it would,
indeed, be truly magnificent."

"But do you suppose, monsieur, that his majesty would
deign to accejDt my invitation?"

"I have no doubt Avhatever of it!" cried Colbert hastily;
"I will guarantee that he does."

"You are exceedingly kind," said Fouquet. "I may
depend on it, then?"

TEN YEAKS LATER. 331

"Yes, monseigneur; yes, certainly."

"Then I will consider it," said Fouquet.

"x\ccept, accept," whispered Ararais eagerly.

"You will consider it?" repeated Colbert.

"Yes," replied Fouquet; "in order to know what day I
shall submit my invitation to the king."

"This very evening, monsieur, this very evening."

"Agreed," said t^^e surintendant. "Gentlemen, I should
wish to issue my invitations; but you know that wherever
the king goes, the king is in his own palace; it is by his
majesty therefore, that you must be invited."

A murmur of delight immediately arose. Fouquet bowed
and left.

"Proud and haughty man," said Colbert, "you accept,
and you know it will cost you ten millions."

"You have ruined me," said Fouquet, in a low tone, to
Aramis.

"I have saved you," replied the latter, while Fouquet
ascended the flight of steps and inquired whether the king
was still visible.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE ORDERLY CLERK.

The king, anxious to be again quite alone, in order to
reflect well upon what was passing in his heart, had with-
drawn to his own aj)artments, where M. de St. Aignan had,
after his conversation with madame, gone to meet him.
This conversation has already been related. The favorite,
vain of his twofold importance, and feeling that he had
become, during the last two hours, the confidant of the
king, began to treat the affairs of the court in a somewhat
indifferent manner; and from the j)osition in which he had
placed himself, or rather, where chance had placed him,
he saw nothing but love and garlands of flowers around
him. The king's love for madame, that of madame for the
king, that of De Guiche for madame, that of La Valliere
for the king, that of Malicorne for Montalais, that of Mile,
de Tonnay-Charente for himself, was not all this, truly,
more than enough to turn the head of any courtier? Be-
sides, St. Aignan was the model of all courtiers, past,
present, and future; and, moreover, St. Aignan showed
himself such an excellent narrator and so discerningly ap-

83:^ TEN TEARS LATER.

preciative that the king listened to him with an appearance
of great interest, particularly when he described the excited
manner with which madame had sought for him to converse
about the aiiair of Mile, de la Valliere, When the king no
longer experienced for madame any remains of the passion
he had once felt for her, there was, in this same eagerness
of madame to procure information about him, such a grati-
fication for his vanity, from which he could not free him-
self. He experienced this gratification, then, but nothing
more; and his heart was not, for a single moment, alarmed
at what madame might, or might not, think of this adven-
ture. When, however, St. Aignan had finished, the king,
while preparing to retire to rest, asked:

"Now, St. Aignan, you know what Mademoiselle de la
Valliere is, do you not?"

"ISTot only what she is, but what she will be."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she is everything that a woman can wish to
be; that is to say, beloved by your majesty; I mean, that
she will be everything your majesty may wish her to be."

"That is not what I am asking. I do not wish to know
what she is to-day, or what she will be to-morrow; as you
have remarked, that is my aifair. But tell me what others
say of her."

"They say she is well-conducted."

"Oh!" said the king, smiling, "that is but report."

"But rare enough, at court, sire, to believe it when it is
spread."

"Perhaps you are right. Is she well-born?"

"Excellently so; the daughter of the Marquis de la Val-
liere, and stepdaughter of that good Monsieur de St.
Eemy."

"Ah, yes, my aunt's major-domo; I remember it; and I
remember now that I saw her as I passed through Blois.
She was presented to the queens. I have even to reproach
myself that I did not, on that occasion, pay her all the
attention she deserved."

"Oh, sire, I trust that your majesty will repair the time
you have lost."

"And the report, you tell me, is that Mademoiselle de la
Valliere never had a lover?"

"In any case, I do not think your majesty would be
much alarmed at the rivalry."

"Yet, stay," said the king, in a very serious tone of voice.

"Your majesty?"

TEN TEAES LATER. 333

"I remember."

"Ah!"

"If she has no lover, she has, at least, a betrothed."

"A betrothed!"

"What, count, do not you know that?"

"No."

"You, the man who knows all the news?"

"Your majesty will excuse me. Your majesty knows
this betrothed, then?"

"Assuredly; his father came to ask me to sign the mar-
riage contract; it is "

The king was about to pronounce the Vicomte de Brage-
lonne's name, when he stopped, and knitted his brows.

"It is?" repeated St. Aignan inquiringly.

"I don't remember now," replied Louis XIV., endeavor-
ing to conceal an annoyance which he had some trouble to
disguise.

"Can I put your majesty in the way?" inquired the
Comte de St. Aignan.

"No; for I no longer remember to whom I intended to
refer; indeed, I only remember very indistinctly that one
of the maids of honor was to marry. The name, however,
has escaped me."

"Was it Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente he was going
to marry?" inquired St. Aignan.

"Very likely," said the king.

"In that c-ase, the intended was Monsieur de Montespan;
but Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente did not speak of it,
it seemed to me, in such a manner as would frighten suitors
away."

"At all events," said the king, "I know nothing, or
almost nothing, about Mademoiselle de la Valliere. St.
Aignan, I rely upon you to procure me some information
about her."

"Yes, sire; and when shall I have the honor of seeing
your majesty again, to give you the information?"

"Whenever you shall have procured it."

"I shall obtain it speedily, then, if the information can
be as quickly obtained as my wish to see your majesty
again."

"Well said, count. By the bye, has madame displayed
any ill-feeling against this poor girl?"

"None, sire."

"Madame did not get angry, then?"

"I do not know; I only know that she laughed con-
tiuuallv."

334 TEN YEARS LATER.

''That's well; but I think I hear voices in the anterooms;
no doubt a courier has just arrived. Inquire. St. Aisrnan."

The count ran to the door and exchanged a few words
with the usher; he returned to the king, saying:

"Sire, it is Monsieur Fouquet, who has this moment
arrived, by your majesty's orders, he says. He presented
himself, but, because of the advanced hour, he does not
press for an audience this evening, and is satisfied to have
his presence here formally announced."

''Monsieur Fouquet! I wrote to him at three o'clock,
inviting him to be at Fontainebleau the following morning,
and he arrived at Fontainebleau at two o'clock. This is
indeed zeal!'^ exclaimed the king, delighted to see himself
so promptly obeyed. "On the contrary. Monsieur Fouquet
shall have his audience. I summoned him, and will receive
him. Let him be introduced. As for you, count, pursue
your inquiries, and be here to-morrow."

The king placed his finger on his lips; and St. Aignan,
his heart brimful of happiness, hastily withdrew, telling the
usher to introduce M. Fouquet, who thereupon entered
the king's apartment. Louis rose to receive him.

"Grood-evening, Monsieur Fouquet," he said, smiling
graciously; "I congratulate you on your punctuality; and
yet my message must have reached you late?"

"At nine in the evening, sire."

"You have been v/orking very hard lately. Monsieur Fou-
quet, for I have been informed that you have not left your
rooms at St. Mande during the last three or four days."

"It is perfectly true, your majesty, that I have kept my-
self shut up for the past three days," replied Fouquet.

"Do you know. Monsieur Fouquet, that I had a great
many things to say to you?" continued the king, with a
most gracious air.

"Your majesty overwhelms me, and since you are so
graciously disposed toward me, will your majesty permit me
to remind you of the promise your majesty made to grant
me an audience?"

"Ah, yes; some church dignitary, who thinks he has to
thank me for something, is it not?"

"Precisely so, sire. The hour is, perhaps, badly chosen;
but the time of the companion whom I have brought with
me is valuable, and as Fontainebleau is on the way to his
diocese "

"Who is it, then?"

"The last Bishop of Vannes, whose appointment your

TEN YEAKS LATER. 335

majesty, at my recommendation, deigned, three months
since, to sign."

"That is very possible," said the king, who had signed
without reading; "and is he here?"

"Yes, sire; Vann^s is an important diocese; the flock be-
longing to this pastor need his religions consolation; they
are savages, whom it is necessary to polish, at the same time
that he instructs them, and Monsieur d'Herblay is un-
equaled in such kind of missions."

"Monsieur d'Herblayl" said the king musingly, as if
his name, heard long since, was not, however, unknown to
him.

"Oh!" said Fouquet promptly, "your majesty is not
acquainted with the obscure name of one of your most
faithful and most valuable servants?"

"No, I confess I am not. And so he wishes to set ofE
again?"

"He has this very day received letters which will, per-
haps, compel him to leave, so that, before setting off for
that unknown region called Bretagne, he is desirous of pay-
ing his respects to your majesty."

"Is he waiting?"

"He is here, sire."

"Let him enter."

Fouquet made a sign to the usher in attendance, who was
waiting behind the tapestry. The door opened, and Aramis
entered. The king allowed him to finish the compliments
which he addressed to him, and fixed a long look upon a
countenance which no one could forget after having once
beheld it.

"Vannes!" he said; "you are a Bishop of Vannes, I
believe?"

"Yes, sire."

"Vannes is in Bretagne, I think?"

Aramis bowed.

"Near the coast?"

Aramis again bowed.

"A few leagues from Belle-Isle, is it not?"

"Yes, sire," replied Aramis; "six leagues, I believe."

"Six leagues; a mere step, then," said Louis XIV.

"Not for us poor Bretons, sire," replied Aramis; "six
leagues, on the contrary, is a great distance, if it be six
leagues on land, and an immense distance, if it be leagues
on the sea. Besides, I have the honor to mention to your
majesty that there are six leagues of sea from the river to
Belle-Isle."

336 TEN YEARS LATEE.

"It is said that Monsieur Fouquet has a very beautiful
house there?" inquired the king.

*'Yes, it is said so/' replied Aramis, looking quietly at
Fouquet.

"What do you mean by 4t is said so?' " exclaimed the
king.

"He has, sire."

"Kealiy, Monsieur Fouquet, I must confess that one cir-
cumstance surprises me."

"What may that be, sire?"

"That you should have at the head of your parishes a
man like Monsieur d'Herblay, and yet should not have
shown him Belle-Isle."

"Oh, sire," replied the bishop, without giving Fouquet
time to answer, "we poor Breton prelates seldom leave our
residences."

"Monsieur de Vannes," said the king, "I will punish
Monsieur Fouquet for his indifference."

"In what way, sire?"

"I will change your bishopric."

Fouquet bit his lips, but Aramis only smiled.

"What income does Vannes bring you in?" continued
the king.

"Sixty thousand livres, sire," said Aramis.

"So trifling an amount as that? But you possess other
property. Monsieur de Vannes?"

"I have nothing else, sire; only Monsieur Fouquet pays
me one thousand two hundred livres a year for his pew in
the church,"

"Well, Monsieur d'Herblay, I promise you something
better than that."

''Sire "

"I will not forget you."

Aramis bowed, and the king also bowed to him in a re-
spectful manner, as he was always accustomed to do toward
women and members of the church. Aramis gathered that
his audience was at an end; he took his leave of the king in
the simple, unpretending language of a country pastor, and
disappeared.

"His is, indeed, a remarkable face," said the king, follov/-
ing him with his eyes as long as he could see him, and even
to a certain degree when he was no longer to be seen.

"Sire," replied Fouquet, "if that bishop had been edu-
cated early in life, no prelate in the kingdom would deserve
the highest distinctions better than he."

TEK YEARS LATEE. 337

"His learning is not extensive, then?"

"He changed the sword for the priest^s garments, and
that rather late in life. But it matters little, if your
majesty will permit me to speak of Monsieur de Vannes
again on another occasion "

"I beg you to do so. But before speaking of him, let us
speak of yourself. Monsieur Eouquet."

"Of me, sire?"

"Yes; I have to pay you a thousand compliments."

"I cannot express to your majesty the delight v/ith
which you overwhelm me."

"I understand you. Monsieur Fouquet. I confess, how-
ever, to have had certain prejudices against you."

"In that case, I was indeed unhappy, sire."

"But they exist no longer. Did you not perceive "

"I did, indeed, sire; but I awaited with resignation the
day when the truth would prevail; and it seems that that
day has now arrived."

"Ah! you knew, then, you were in disgrace with me?"

"Alas! sire, I perceived it."

' And do you know the reason?"

"Perfectly well; your majesty thought that I had been
wastefully lavish in expenditure."

"Not so; far from that."

"Or rather, an indifferent administrator. In a word,
your majesty thought that, as people had no^money, there
would be none for your majesty either."

"Yes, I thought so; but I was deceived."

Fouquet bowed.

"And no disturbances, no complaints?"

"And money enough," said Fouquet.

"The fact is, that you have been profuse with it during
the last mouth."

"I have more still, not only for all your majesty's re-
quirements, but for all your caprices."

"I thank yop. Monsieur Fouquet," replied the king
seriously. "I will not put you to the proof. For the next
two months I do not intend to ask you for anything."

"I will avail myself of the interval to amass five or six
millions, which will be serviceable as money in hand in case
of war."

"Five or six millions!"

"For the expenses of your majesty's household only, be
it understood."

"You think war is probable. Monsieur Fouquet?"

Dumas— Vol. KST. 15

338 TEK TEARS LATER.

''I think that if Heaven has bestowed on the eagle a beak
and olaws, it is to enable him to shoAV his royal character."

The king blushed with pleasure.

"We have spent a great deal of money these few days
past. Monsieur Fouquet; will you not scold me for it?"

"Sire, your majesty has still twenty years of youth to
enjoy, and a thousand million of francs to spend in those
twenty years,"

"That is a great deal of money. Monsieur Fouquet," said
the king.

"I will economize, sire. Besides, your majesty has two
valuable men in Monsieur Colbert and myself. The one
will encourage you to be prodigal with your treasures — and
this shall be myself, if my services should continue to be
agreeable to your majesty; and the other will economize
money for you, and this will be Monsieur Colbert's
province."

"Monsieur Colbert?" returned the king, astonished.

"Certainly, sire; Monsieur Colbert is an excellent
accountant."

At this commendation, bestowed by the enemy on the
enemy himself, the king felt himself penetrated with con-
fidence and admiration. There was not, moreover, either
in Fouquet's voice or look, anything which injuriously
affected a single syllable of the remark he had made; he
did not pass one eulogium, as it were, in order to acquire
the right of making two reproaches. The king compre-
hended him, and yielding to so much generosity and
address, he said:

"You praise Monsieur Colbert, then?"

"Yes, sire, I praise him; for, besides being a man of
merit, I believe him to be very devoted to your majesty's
interests."

"Is that because he has often interfered with your own
views?" said the king, smiling.

"Exactly, sire."

"Explain yourself."

"It is simple enough. I am the man who is needed to
make the money come in; he the man who is needed to
prevent it leaving."

"Nay, nay. Monsieur le Surintendant; you will presently
say something which will correct this good opinion?"

"Do you mean as far as administrative abilities are con-
cerned, sire?"

"Yes."

TEN YEARS LATER. 339

''Not in the slightest."

"Eeally?"

"Upon my honor, sire, I do not know, throughout
France, a better clerk than Monsieur Colbert."

This word "clerk" did not possess, in 1661, the some-
what subservient signification which is attached to it in the
present day; but, as spoken by Fouquet, whom the king
had addressed as the surintendant, it seemed to acquire an
insignificant and petty character, which served admirably
to restore Fouquet to his place and Colbert to his own.

"And yet," said Louis XIV., "it was he, however, who,
notwithstanding his economy, had the arrangement of my
fetes here at Fontainebleau; and I assure you, Monsieur
Fouquet, that in no way has he interfered with the ex-
penditure of money."

Fouquet bowed, but did not reply.

"Is it not your opinion, too?" said the king.

"I think, sire," he replied, "that Monsieur Colbert has
done what he had to do in an exceedingly orderly manner,
and that he deserves, in this respect, all the praise your
majesty may bestow upon him."

The word "orderly" was a proper accompaniment for
the word "clerk." The king possessed that extreme sensi-
tiveness of organization, that delicacy of perception, which
pierced through and detected the regular order of feelings
and sensations, before the actual sensations themselves, and
he therefore comprehended that the clerk had, in Fouquet's
opinion, been too full of method and order in his arrange-
ments; in other words, that the magnificent /e/es of Fon-
tainebleau might have been rendered more magnificent still.
The king consequently felt that there was something in the
amusements he had provided with which some person or
another might be able to find fault; he experienced a little
of the annoyance felt by a person coming from the provinces
to Paris, dressed out in the very best clothes which his
wardrobe can furnish, and finds that the fashionably dressed
man there looks at him either too much or not enough.
This part of the conversation, which Fouquet had carried
on with so much moderation, yet with such extreme tact,
inspired the king with the highest esteem for the character
of the man and the capacity of the minister. Fouquet took
his leave at two o'clock in the morning, and the king went
to bed, a little uneasy and confused at the indirect lesson
he had just received; and two good quarters of an hour
were employed by him in going over again in his memory

340 TEN YEARS LATER.

the embroideries, the tapestries, the bills of fare of the
various banquets, the architecture for the triumphal arches,
'the arrangements for the illuminations and fireworks, all
the offspring of the "Clerk Colbert's" invention. The
result was, that the king passed in review before him every-
thing that had taken place during the last eight days, and
decided that faults could be found in his fetes. But Fou-
quet, by his politeness, his thoughtful consideration, and his
generosity, had injured Colbert more deeply than the latter
by his artifice, his ill-will, and his persevering hatred had
ever succeeded in injuring Fouquet.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

FONTAINEBLEAU AT TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

As we have seen, St. Aignan had quitted the king's apart-
ment at the very moment the surintendant entered it. St.
Aignan was charged with a mission which required dis-
patch, and he was going to do his utmost to turn his time
to the best possible advantage. He whom we have intro-
duced as the king's friend was indeed an uncommon per-
sonage; he was one of those valuable courtiers whose vigilance
and acuteness of perception threw all past and future
favorites into the shade, and counterbalanced, by his close
attention, the servility of Dangeau, who was not the favor-
ite, but the toady of the king. M. de St. Aignan began to
think what was to be done in the present position of affairs.
He reflected that his first information ought to come from
De Guiche. He therefore set out in search of him, but De
Guiche, whom we saw disappear behind one of the wings of
the chateau, and who seemed to have returned to his own
apartments, had not entered the chateau. St. Aignan,
therefore, went in quest of him, and after having turned,
and twisted, and searched in every direction, he perceived
something like a human form leaning against a tree. This
figure was as motionless as a statue, and seemed deeply en-
gaged in looking at a window, although its curtains were
closely drawn. As this window happened to be madame's,
St. Aignan concluded that the form in question must be
that of De Guiche. He advanced cautiously, and found
that he was not mistaken. De Guiche had, after his con-
versation with madame, carried away such a weight of hap-
piness that all his strength of mind was hardly sufficient to

TEN YEARS LATER. 341

enable him to support it. On his side, St. Aignan knew
that De Guiche had had something to do with La Valliere's
introduction to madame's household, for a courtier knows
everything and forgets nothing; but he had never learned
under what title or conditions De Guiche had conferred his
protection upon La Valliere. But, as in asking a great
many questions it is singular if a man does not learn some-
thing, St. Aignan reckoned upon learning much or little,
as it might be, if he were to question De Guiche with that
extreme tact, and, at the same time, with that persistence
in attaining an object of which he was capable. St.
Aignan's plan was the following: if the information obtained
was satisfactory, he would inform the king, with effusion,
that he had alighted upon a pearl, and claim the privilege
of setting the pearl in question in the royal crown. If the
information were unsatisfactory, which, after all, might be
possible, he would examine how far the king cared about
La Valliere, and make use of his information in such a
manner as to get rid of the girl altogether, and thereby
obtain all the merit of her banishment with all those ladies
of the court who might have any pretensions upon the
king's heart, beginning with madame, and finishing with the
queen. In case the king should show himself obstinate in
his fancy, then he would not produce the damaging infor-
mation lie had obtained, but would let Valliere know that
this damaging information was carefully preserved in a
secret drawer of her confidant's memory; in this manner he
would be able to display his generosity before the poor girl's
eyes, and so keep her in constant suspense between grati-
tude and apprehension, to such an extent as to make her a
friend at court, interested, as an accomplice, in making her
accomplice's fortune, while she was making her own. As
far as concerned the day when the bombshell of the past
should burst, if ever there should be any occasion for its
bursting, St. Aignan promised himself that he would by
that time have taken all possible precautions, and would
pretend an entire ignorance of the matter to the king;
while, with regard to La Valliere, he would still, even on
that day, have an opportunity of being considered the
personification of generosity. It was with such ideas as
these, which the fire of covetousness had caused to dawn
into being in half an hour, that St. Aignan, the best son in
the world, as La Fontaine would have said, determined to
get De Guiche into conversation; in other words, to trouble
him in his happiness — a happiness of which St. Aignan was

842 TEN TEARS LATER.

quite ignorant. It was one o'clock in the morning when
St. Aignan perceived De Guiche, standing motionless, lean-
ing against the trunk of a tree, with his eyes fastened upon
the lighted window. One o'clock in the morning, that is,
the softest hour of night-time, that which painters crown
with myrtles and budding poppies, the hour when eyes are
heavy, hearts are throbbing, and heads feel dull and languid
— an hour which casts upon the day which has passed away
a look of regret, which addresses a loving greeting to the
dawning light. For De Guiche it was the dawn of unutter-
able happiness; he would have bestowed a treasure upon a
beggar, had he stood before him, to secure him an unin-
terrupted indulgence in his dreams. It was precisely at
this hour that St. Aignan, badly advised — selfishness always
counsels badly — came and struck him on the shoulder at
the very moment he was murmuring a word, or rather, a
name.

"Ah!" he cried loudly, "I was looking for you."

"For me?" said De Guiche, starting.

"Yes; and I find you seemingly moon-struck. Is it
likely, my dear comte, you have been attacked by a poetical
malady, and are making verses?"

The young man forced a smile upon his lips, while a
thousand conflicting sensations were muttering against St.
Aignan in the deep recesses of his heart.

"Perhaps," he said. "But by what happy chance "

"Ah! your remark shows that you did not hear what I
said."

"Hov so?"

"Why, I began by telling you I was looking for you."

"You were looking for me?"

"Yes; and I find you now in the very act."

"Of doing what, I should like to know?"

'^Of singing the praises of Phillis."

"Well, I do not deny it," said De Guiche, laughing.
"Yes, my dear comte, I was celebrating Phillis' praises."

"And you have acquired the right to do so."

"I?"

"You; no doubt of it. You, the intrepid protector of
every beautiful and clever woman."

"In the name of goodness, what story have you got hold
of now?"

"Acknowledged truths, I am well aware. But stay a
moment; I am in love."

"You?"

TEN \EARS LATER. 343

"Yes."

"So much the better, my dear comte; tell me all about
it."

And De Guiche, afraid that St. Aignan might perhaps
presently observe the window where the light was still
burning, took the comte's arm and endeavored to lead him
away.

"Oh!" said the latter, resisting, "do not take me toward
those dark woods, it is too damp there. Let us stay in the
moonlight,"

And while he yielded to the pressure of De Quiche's arm,
he remained in the flower-garden adjoining the chateau.

"Well," said De Guiche, resigning himself, "lead me
where you like, and ask me what you please."

"It is impossible to, be more agreeable than you are."

And then, after a moment's silence, St. Aignan continued:

"I wish you to tell me something about a certain person
in whom you have interested yourself."

"And Avith whom you are in love?"

"I will neither admit nor deny it. You understand that
a man does not very readily place his heart where there is
no hope of return, and th-t it is most essential he should
take measures of security in advance."

"You are right," said De Guiche, with a sigh; "a heart
is a precious gift."

"Mine particularly is very tender, and in that light I
present it to you."

"Oh! you are well known, comte. Well?"

"It is simply a question of Mademoiselle de Tonnay-
Charente."

"Whyj my dear St. Aignan, you are losing your senses,
I should think."

"Why so?"

"I have never shown or taken any interest in Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente."

"Bah!"

"Never."

"Did you not obtain admission for Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente into madame's household?"

"Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Oharente — and you ought to
know it better than any one else, my dear comte — is of a
sufficiently good family to make her presence here desira-
ble, and a greater reason, therefore, to render her admit-
tance very easy."

"You are jesting."

344 TEN TEARS LATER.

"No; and upon my honor, I do not know what you
mean."

"And you had nothing, then, to do with her admission?''

"No."'

"You do not know her?"

"I saw her for the first time the day she was presented to
madame. Therefore, as I have never taken any interest in
her, as I do not know her, I am not able to give you the
information you require."

And De Guiche made a movement as though he were
about to leave his questioner.

"Nay, nay, one moment, my dear comte," said St.
Aignan; "you shall not escape me in this manner."

"Why, really, it seems to me that it is now time to return
to our apartments."

"And yet you were not going in when I — did not meet,
but found you."

"Therefore, my dear comte," said De Guiche, "as long
as you have anything to say to me, I place myself entirely
at your service."

"And you are quite right in doing so. What matters
half an hour, more or less? Will you swear that you have
no injurious commuuicatious to make to me about her, and
that any injurious communications you might possibly have
to make are not the cause of your silence?"

"Oh! I believe the poor child to be as pure as crystal."

"You overwhelm me with joy. iVnd yet I do not wish
to have toward you the appearance of a man so badly in-
formed as I seem. It is quite certain that you supplied the
princess' household with the ladies of honor. Nay, a song
even has been written about it."

"You know that songs are written about everything."
"Do you know it?"

"No; sing it to me, and I shall make its acquaintance."
"I cannot tell you how it begins, I only remember how it
ends."

"Very well; at all events, that is something."

"" Guiche is the furnisher
Of the maids of honor.' "

"The idea is weak, and the rhyme poor," said De Guiche.

"What can you expect, my dear fellow? It is not Racine
or Moliere, but La Feuillade's, and a great lord cannot
rhyme like a beggarly poet."

TEN YEARS LATER. 345

**It is very unfortunate, though, that you only remember
the termination."

"Stay, stay; 1 have just recollected the beginning of the
second couplet.

" ' He has stodk'd the birdcage,
Montalais and ' "

"And La Valliere," exclaimed De Guiche impatiently,
and completely ignorant, besides, of St. Aignan's object.

"Yes, yes, you have it. You have it upon the word La
Valliere."

"A grand discovery, indeed."

"Montalais and La Valliere, these, then, are the two
young girls in whom you interest yourself," said St. Aignan,
laughing.

"And so. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente's name is •
not to be met with in the song?"

"No, indeed."

"Are you satisfied, then?"

"Perfectly; but I find Montalais' there," said St. Aignan,
still laughing.

"Oh! you will find her everywhere. She is a most active
young lady."

"You know her?"

"Indirectly. She was the protegee of a man named Mali-
come, who is a protege of Manicamp's. Manicamp asked
me to get the situation of maid of honor for Montalais in
madame's household, and a situation for Malicorne as an
oflBcer in Monsieur's household. Well, I asked for the
appointments, and you know very well that I have a weak-
ness for that droll fellow, Manicamp."

"And you obtained what you sought?"

"For Montalais, yes; for Malicorne, yes and no; for as
yet he is only tolerated there. Do you wish to know any-
thing else?"

"The last word of the couplet still remains. La Valliere,"
said St. Aignan, resuming the smile which had so tormented
De Guiche.

"Well," said the latter, "it is true that I obtained admis-
sion for her in madame's household."

"Ah, ah!" said St. Aignan.

"But," continued De Guiche, assuming a great coldness
of manner, "you will oblige me, comte, not to jest about
that name. Mademoiselle la Baume le Blanc de la Valliere
is a youug lady perfectly well conducted."

346 TEN TEARS LATER.

"Perfectly well conducted, do vou say?"

"Yes."

"Then you have not heard the last rumor?" exclaimed
St. Aignan.

"No; and you will do me a service, my dear comte, in
keeping this report to yourself and to those who circulate
it."

"Ah, bah I you take the matter up very seriously."

"Yes; Mademoiselle de la Valliere is beloved by one of
my best friends."

St. Aignan started.

"Oh, oh!" he said.

"Yes, comte," continued De Guiche; "and consequently,
you, the most distinguished man in France for his polished
courtesy of manner, will understand that I cannot allow
my friend to be placed in a ridiculous position."

St. Aignan began to bite his nails, partially from vexation,
and partially from disappointed curiosity. De Guiche made
him a very profound bow.

"You send me away," said St. Aignan, who was dying to
know the name of the friend.

"I do not send you away, my dear fellow. I am going
to finish my lines to Phillis."

"And those lines "

"Are a quatrain. You understand, I trust, that a
quaircHn is a serious affair?"

"Of course."

"And as of these four lines, of which it is naturally com-
posed, I have yet three and a half to make, I need my un-
divided attention."

"I quite understand. Adieu, comte. By the bye "

"What?"

"Are you quick at making verses?"
"Wonderfully so."

"Will you quite have finished the three lines and a half
to-morrow morning?"

"I hope so."

"Adieu, then, until to-morrow."
"Adieu, adieu!"

St Aignan was obliged to accept the notice to quit; he
accordingly did so, and disappeared behind the hedge.
Their conversation had led De Guiche and St. Aignan a
good distance from the chateau.

Every mathematician, every poet, and every dreamer has
Ms means of diverting his attention. St. Aignan, then, on

TEN YEARS LATER. 347

leaving De Guiche, found himself at the extremity of the
grove — at the very spot where the outbuildings for the
servants begin, and where, behind thickets of acacias and
chestnut-trees interlacing their branches, which were hidden
by masses of clematis and young vines, the wall which
separated the woods from the courtyard of these outbuild-
ings was erected. St. Aignan, alone, took the path which
led toward these buildings, De Guiche going oS in the very
opposite direction. The one proceeded toward the flower-
garden, while the other bent his steps toward the walls.
St. Aignan walked on. between rows of the mountain-ash,
lilac, and hawthorn, which formed an almost impenetrable
roof above his head; his feet were buried in the soft gravel
and the thick moss. He was deliberating over a means of
taking his revenge, which it seemed difficult for him to
carry out, and was vexed with himself for not having
learned more about La Valliere, notwithstanding the in-
genious measures he had resorted to in order to acquire some
information about her, when suddenly the murmur of a
human voice attracted his attention. He heard whispers,
the complaining tones of a woman's voice mingled with
entreaties, smothered laughter, sighs, and half-stifled ex-
clamations of surprise; but above them all the woman's
voice prevailed. St. Aignan stopped to look about him;
he perceived with the greatest surprise that the voices pro-
ceeded, not from the ground, but from the branches of the
trees. As he glided along under the covered walk he
raised his head, and observed at the top of the wall a woman
perched upon a ladder, in eager conversation with a man
seated on a branch of a chestnut-tree, whose head alone
could be seen, the rest of his body being concealed in the
thick covert of the chestnut. The woman was on the near
side of the wall, the man on the other side of it.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE LABYRINTH.

St. Aignan, who had only been seeking for information,
had met with an adventure. This was, indeed, a piece of
good luck. Curious to learn why, and particularly about
what, this man and woman were conversing at such an hour
and in such a singular position, St. Aignan made himself as
small as he possibly could, and approached almost under

348 TEN TEARS LATER.

the rounds of the ladder. And taking measures to make
himself as comfortable as possible, he leaned his back against
a tree and listened, and heard the following conversation.
The woman was the first to speak.

"Keally, Monsieur Manicamp," she said, in a voice
which, notwithstanding the reproaches she addressed to
him, preserved a marked tone of coquetry, "really, your
indiscreetness is of a very dangerous character. We cannot
talk long in this manner without being observed."

"That is very probable," said the man, in the calmest
and coolest of tones.

"In that case, then, what would people say? Oh! if any
one were to see me, I declare I should die from very shame."

"Oh! that would be very silly, and I do not believe you
capable of it."

"It might have been different if there had been anything
between us; but to do any injury to myself gratuitously is
really very foolish of me; so, adieu. Monsieur Manicamp."

"So far, so good; I know the man, and now let me see
who the woman is," said St. Aignan, watching the rounds
of the ladder, on which were standing two pretty little feet
covered with blue satin shoes.

"Nay, nay, for pity's sake, my dear Montalais," cried
Manicamp. "Deuce take it! do not go away; I have a
great many things to say to you, of the greatest importance,
si;ill."

"Montalais," said St. Aignan, to himself, "one of the
three. Each of the three gossips had her adventure, only
I had thought that the hero of this one's adventure was
Malicorne, and not Manicamp."

At her companion's appeal Montalais stopped in the
inicldle of her descent, and St. Aignan could observe the
unfortunate Manicamp climb from one branch of the
chestnut-tree to another, either to improve his situation or
to overcome the fatigue consequent upon his indifferent
position.

"Now, listen to me," said he: "you quite understand, I
hope, that my intentions are perfectly innocent."

"Of course. But why did you write me a letter stimulat-
ing my gratitude toward you? Why did you ask me for an
interview at such an hour and in such a place as this?"

"I stimulated your gratitude in reminding you that it
was I who had been the means of your becoming attached
to madame's household; because most anxiously desirous
of obtaining the interview which you have been kind enough

TEN" YEARS LATEE. 349

to grant me. I employed the means which appeared to me
the most certain to insure it. And my reason for soliciting
it at such an hour and in such a locality, was, that the hour
seemed to me to be the most prudent, and the locality the
least open to observation. Moreover, I had occasion to
speak to you upon certain subjects which require both
prudence and solitude."

"Monsieur Manicamp!"

"But everything in the most perfect honor, I assure you."

"I think, Monsieur Manicamp, that it will be more be-
coming in me to take my leave."

"Nay, listen to me, or I shall jump from my perch here
to yours, and be careful how you set me at defiance; for a
branch of this chestnut-tree causes me a good deal of annoy-
ance, and may provoke me to extreme measures. Do not
follow the example of this branch, then, but listen to me."

"1 am listening, and I will agree to do so; but be as brief
as possible, for if you have a branch of the chestnut-tree
which annoys you, I wish you to understand that one of the
rounds of the ladder is hurting the soles of my feet, and
my shoes are being cut through."

"Do me the kindness to give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Will you have the goodness to do so?"

"There is my hand, then; but what are you going to do?"

"To draw you toward me."

"W^hat for? You surely do not wish me to join you in
the tree?"

"No; but I wish you to sit down upon the wall; there,
that will do; there is quite room enough, and I would give
a great deal to be allowed to sit down beside you."

"No, no; you are very well where you are; we should be
seen,"

"Do you really think so?" said Manicamp, in an insinuat-
ing voice.

"I am sure of it."

"Very well, I remain in my tree, then, although I cannot
be worse placed."

"Monsieur Manicamp, we are wandering away from the
subject."

"You're right, we are so."

"You wrote me a letter?"

"I did."

"Why did you write?"

"Fancy, that at two o'clock to-day, De Guiche left."

350 TEN YEARS LATER.

"What then?''

^'Seeing him set off, I followed him, as I usually do.'*

"Of course, I see that, since you are here now."

"Don't be in a hurry. You are aware, I suppose, that
De Guiche is up to his very neck in disgrace?"

"Alas! yes."

"It was the very height of imprudence on his part, then,
to come to Fontainebleau to seek those who had at Paris
sent him away into exile, and particularly those from whom
he had been separated."

"Monsieur Manicamp, you reason like Pythagoras of old."

"Moreover, De Guiche is as obstinate as a man in love
can be, and he refused to listen to any of my remonstrances.
I begged, 1 implored him, but he would not listen to any-
thing. Oh! the deuce!"

"What's the matter?"

"I beg your pardon. Mademoiselle Montalais, but this
confounded branch, about which I have already had the
honor of speaking to you, has just torn a certain portion of
my dress."

"It is quite dark," replied Montalais, laughing; "so, pray
continue, Monsieur Manicamp."

"De Guiche set off on horseback as hard as he could, I
following him at a slower pace. You quite understand that
to throw one's self into the water, for instance, with a
friend, with the same headlong speed as he himself would
do it, would be the act either of a fool or a madman. I
therefore allowed De Guiche to get in advance, and I pro-
ceeded on my way with a commendable slowness of pace,
feeling quite sure that my unfortunate friend would not be
received, or, if he had been, that he would ride off again at
the very first cross, disagreeable answer; and that I should
see him returning much faster than he had gone, without
having, myself, gone further than Eis or Melun — and that
even was good distance, you will admit, for it is eleven
leagues to get there and as many to return."

Montalais shrugged her shoulders.

"Laugh as much as you like; but if, instead of being
comfortably seated on the top of the wall as you are, you
were sitting on this branch, as if you were on horseback,
you would, like Augustus, aspire to descend."

"Be patient, my dear Monsieur Manicamp, a few minutes'
will soon pass away; you were saying, I think, that you had
gone beyond Ris and Melun."

"Yes; I went through Ris and Melun, and I continued to

TEN YEARS LATER. 351

go on, more and more surprised that I did not see him re-
turning; and here I am at Fontainebleau; I look for and
inquire after De Guiche everywhere, but no one has seen
him, no one in the town has spoken to him; he arrived rid-
ing at full gallop, he entered the chateau, where he has dis-
appeared. I have been here at Fontainebleau since eight
o'clock this evening, inquiring for De Guiche in every
direction, but no De Guiche can be found. I am dying
from uneasiness. You understand that I have not been
running my head into the lion's den, in entering the
chateau, as my imprudent friend has done; I came at once
to the servant's offices, and I succeeded in getting a letter
conveyed to you; and now, for Heaven's sake, my dear
young lady, relieve me from my anxiety."

"There will be no difficulty in that, my dear Monsieur
Manicamp; your friend De Guiche has been admirably
received."

"Bah!" '

"The king made quite a fuss with him."

"The king who exiled him!"

"Madame smiled upon him, and Monsieur appears to like
him better than ever."

"Ah! ah!" said Manicamp, "that explains to me, then,
why and how he has remained. And did he not say any-
thing about me?"

"Not a word."

"That is very unkind. What is he doing now?"

"In all probability he is asleep, or, if not asleep, he is
dreaming."

"And what have they been doing all the evening?"

"Dancing."

"The famous ballet? How did De Guiche look?"

"Superb."

"Dear fellow! And now, pray forgive me, Mademoiselle
Montalais, but all that I now have to do is to pass from
where I now am to your apartment."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot suppose that the door of the chateau will be
opened for me at this hour; and as for spending the night
upon this branch, I possibly might not object to do so, but
I declare it is impossible for any other animal than a papegai
to do it."

"But, Monsieur Manicamp, I cannot introduce a man
over the wall in that manner."

"Two, if you please," said a second voice, but in so timid

352 TEN YEARS LATER.

a tone that it seemed as if its owner felt the utter impro-
priety of such a request.

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Montalais, "who is that
speaking to me?"

"Malicorne, Mademoiselle Montalais."

And as Malicorne spoke he raised himself from the
ground to the lowest branches, and thence to the height of
the wall.

"Monsieur Malicorne! why, you are both mad!"

"How do you do. Mademoiselle Montalais?" inquired
Malicorne.

"I needed but this!" said Montalais, in despair.

"Oh! Mademoiselle Montalais," murmured Malicorne;
"do not be so severe, I beseech you."

"In fact," said Mauicam^o, "we are your friends, and you
cannot possibly wish yo tr friends to lose their lives; and
to leave us to pass the night where we are, in fact, is
condemning us both to death."

"Oh!" said Montalais, "Monsieur Malicorne is so robust
that a night passed in the open air with the beautiful stars
above him will not do him any harm, and it will be a just
punishment for the trick he has played me."

"Be it so, then; let Malicorne arrange matters with you
in the best way he can; I pass over," sai^i Manicamp. And
bending down the famous branch against which he had
directed such bitter complaints, he succeeded, by the assist-
ance of his hands and feet, in seating himself side by side
with Montalais, who tried to push him back, while he
endeavored to maintain his position, and in which, more-
over, he succeeded. Having taken possession of the lad-
der, he stepped on it, and then gallantly offered his_ hand
to his fair antagonist. While this was going on Malicorne
had installed himself in the chestnut-tree, in the very place
Manicamp had just left, determining within himself to suc-
ceed him in the one which he now occupied. Manicamp
and Montalais descended a few rounds of the ladder, Mani-
camp insisting, and Montalais laughing and objecting.

Suddenly Malicorne's voice was heard intones of entreaty:

"I entreat you. Mademoiselle Montalais, not to leave me
here. My position is very insecure, and some accident
will be sure to befall me, if I attempt, unaided, to reach
the other side of the wall; it does not matter if Manicamp
tears his clothes, for he can make use of Monsieur de
Quiche's wardrobe; but I shall not be able to use even those
belonging to Monsieur Manicamp, for they will be torn."

TEN YEARS LATER. 350

*'My opinion," said Manicamp, without taking any notice
of Malicorne's lamentations, 'Ms that the best thing to be
done is to go and look for De Guiche without delay, for, by
and by, perhaps, I may not be able to get to his apartments."

''That is my opinion, too," replied Montalais; '*so, go at
once, Monsieur Manicamp."

"A thousand thanks. Adieu, Mademoiselle Montalais,"
said Manicamp, Jumping to the ground; ''your kindness
cannot possibly be exceeded."

"Farewell, Monsieur Manicamp; I am now going to get
rid of Monsieur Malicorne."

Malicorne sighed. Manicamp went away a few paces, but
returning to the foot of the ladder, he said, "By the bye,
which is the way to Monsieur de Guiche's apartments?"

"Nothing is easier. You go along by the hedge until you
reach a place where the paths cross."

"Yes."

"You will see four paths."

"Exactly."

"One of which you will take."

"Which of them?"

"That to the right."

"To the right?"

"No, to the left."

"The deuce!"

"No, no, wait a minute "

"You do not seem to be quite sure. Think again, I beg."

"You take the middle path."

"But there are four."

"So there are. All that I know is, that one of the four
paths leads straight to madam'e's apartments; and that one
I am well acquainted with."

"But Monsieur de Guiche is not inmadame's apartments,
I suppose?"

"No, indeed."

"Well, then, the path which leads to madame's apart-
ments is of no use to me, and I would willingly exchange
it for the one that leads to where Monsieur de Guiche is
lodging."

"Of course, and I know that as well; but as for indicat-
ing from where we are, it is quite impossible."

"Well, let us suppose that I have succeeded in finding
that fortunate path."

"In that case, you are almost there, for you haye nothing
else to do but to cross the labyrinth.''

354 TEN YEARS LATER.

"Nothing more than that? The deuce! so there is a
labyrinth as well."

"Yes, and complicated enough, too; even in daylight
one may sometimes be deceived — there are turnings and
windings without end; in the first place, you must turn
three times to the right, then twice to the left, then turn
once — stay, is it once or twice, though? At all events,
when you get clear of the labyrinth you will see an avenue
of sycamores, and this avenue leads straight to the pavilion
in which Monsieur de Guiche is lodging."

"Nothing could be more clearly indicated," said Mani-
camp; "and I have not the slightest doubt in the world that
if I were to follow your directions I should lose my way
immediately. I have, therefore, a slight service to ask of
you."

"What may that be?"

"That you will offer me your arm and guide me yourself,
like another — like another — I used to know mythology, but
other important matters have made me forget it; pray come
with me, then."

"And am I to be abandoned, then?" cried Malicorne.

"It is quite impossible, monsieur," said Montalais to
Manicamp; "if I were to be seen with you at such an hour
what would be said of me?"

"Your own conscience would acquit you," said Mani-
camp sententiously.

"Impossible, monsieur, impossible."

"In that case, let me assist Malicorne to get down; he is
a very intelligent fellow, and possesses a very keen scent;
he will guide me, and if we lose ourselves both of us will
be lost, and the one will save the other. If we are together,
and should be met by any one, we shall look as if we had
some matte"r of business in hand; while alone I should have
the appearance either of a lover or a robber. Come, Mal-
icorne, here is the ladder."

Malicorne had already stretched out one of his legs
toward the top of the wall, when Manicamp said, in a
whisper, "Hush!"

"What's the matter?" inquired Montalais.

"I hear footsteps."

"Good heavens!"

In fact, the fancied footsteps soon became a reality; the
foliage was pushed aside, and St. Aignan appeared, with a
smile on his lips, and his hand stretched out toward them,
taking every one by surprise, that is to say, Malicorne upon

TEN YEARS LATER. 355

the tree with his head stretched out, Montalais upon the
rounds of the ladder and clinging to it tightly, and Mani-
camp on the ground with his foot advanced ready to set off.

"Good-evening, Manicamp," said the comte, "I am glad
to see you, my dear fellow; we missed you this evening, and
a good many inquiries have been made about you. Made-
moiselle de Montalais, your most obedient servant."

Montalais blushed. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed,
hiding her face in both her hands.

"Pray reassure yourself; I know how perfectly innocent
you are, and I shall give a good account of you. Mani-
camp, do you follow me: the hedge, the cross-paths, and
labyrinth, I am well acquainted with them all; I will be
your Ariadne. There now, your mythological name is
found at last."

"Perfectly true, comte."

"And take Monsieur Malicorne away with you at the
same time," said Montalais.

"No, indeed," said Malicorne; "Monsieur Manicamp has
conversed with you as long as he liked, and now it is my
turn, if you please; I have a multitude of things to tell you
about our future prospects."

"You hear," said the comte, laughing; "stay with him.
Mademoiselle Montalais. This is, indeed, a night for
secrets." And, taking Manicamp's arm, the comte led
him rapidly away in the direction of the road which Montalais
knew so well, and indicated so badly. Montalais followed
them with her eyes as long as she could perceive them.

CHAPTEK L.

HOW MALICORNE HAD BEEN TURNED OUT OF THE HOTEL
OF THE BEAU PAON.

While Montalais was engaged in looking after the comte
and Manicamp, Malicorne had taken advantage of the young
girl's attention being drawn aw y to render his position
somewhat more tolerable, and when she turned round she
immediately noticed the change which had taken place; for
he had seated himself, like a monkey, upon the wall, with
his feet resting upon the top rounds of the ladder. The
foliage of the wild vine and honeysuckle curled round his
head like a faun, while the twisted ivy branches represented
tolerably enough his cloven feet. Montalais required noth-

356 TEl-T YEARS LATER.

ing to make her resemblance to a dyrad as complete as pos-
sible. "Well," she said, ascending another round of the
ladder, "are you resolved to render me unhappy? Have
you not persecuted me enough, tyrant that you are?"

"I a tyrant?" said Malicorne.

"Yes, you are always compromising me, Monsieur Mali-
corne; you are a perfect monster of wickedness."

"I?"

"What have you to do with Fontainebleau? Is not
Orleans your place of residence?"

"Do you ask me v/hat I have to do here? I wanted to see
you."

"Ah, great need of that."

"Not as far as concerns yourself, perhaps, but as far as I
am concerned, Mademoiselle Montalais, you know very well
that I have left my home, and that, for the future, I have
no other place of residence than that which you may hap-
pen to have. As you, therefore, are staying at Fontaine-
bleau at the present moment, I have come to Fontainebleau."

Montalais shrugged her shoulders. "You wished to see
me, did you not?" she said.

"Of course."

"Very well, you have seen me — you are satisfied; so now
go away."

"Oh, no," said Malicorne; "1 came to talk with you as
well as to see you."

"Very well, we will talk by and by, and in another place
than this."

"By and by! Heaven only knows if I shall meet you by
and by in another place. We shall never find a more favor-
able one than this."

"But I cannot this evening, nor at the present moment."

"Why not?"

"Because a thousand things have happened to-night."

"Well, then, my affair will make a thousand and one."

"No, no; Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente is waiting
for me in our room to communicate something of the very
greatest importance."

"How long has she been waiting?"

"For an hour at least."

"In that case," said Malicorne tranquilly, "she will wait
a few minutes longer."

"Monsieur Malicorne," said Montalais, "you are forget-
ting yourself."

"You should rather say that it is you who are forgetting

TEN YEARS LATER. 357

me, and that I am getting impatient at the part you make
me play here, indeed! For the last week I have been
prowling about among the company here, and you have not
deigned once to notice my presence here."

'"Have you been prowling about here for a week. Mon-
sieur Malicorne?"

"Like a wolf; sometimes I have been burned by the fire-
works, which have singed two of my wigs; at others, I have
been completely drenched in the osiers by the evening
damps, or the spray from the fountains — always half-
famished, always fatigued to death, with the view of a wall
always before me, and the prospect of having to scale it
perhaps. Upon my word, this is not the sort of life for
any one to lead who is neither a squirrel, nor a salamander,
nor an otter; and since you drive your inhumanity so far 'as
to wish to make me renounce my own condition as a man, I
declare it openly. A man I am indeed, and a man I will
remain, unless by superior orders."

"Well, then, tell me, what do you wish — what do you
require — what do you insist upon?" said Montalais, in a
submissive tone.

"Do you mean to tell me that you did not know I was at
Fontainebleau?"

"I!"

"Nay, be frank."

"I suspected so."

"Well, then, could you not have contrived during the
last week to have seen me once a day, at least?"

"I have always been prevented. Monsieur Malicorne."

"Fiddlestick!"

"Ask my companion, if you do not believe me."

"I shall ask no one to explain matters which I know
better than any one."

"Compose yourself. Monsieur Malicorne; things will
change."

"They must, indeed."

"You know that, whether I see you or not, I am think-
ing of you," said Montalais, in a coaxing tone of voice.

"Oh, you are thinking of me, are you? Well, and is
there anything new?"

"What about?"

"About my post in Monsieur's household."

"Ah, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, no one has ventured
lately to approach his royal highness."

"Well, but now?"

358 TEN TEARS LATER.

"Now, it is quite a difEerent thing; since yesterday he has
left off being jealous."

"Bah! how has his jealousy subsided?"

"It has been diverted into another channel."

"Tell me all about it."

"A report was spread that the king had fallen in love
with some one else, and Monsieur was tranquillized im-
mediately."

"And who spread the report?"

Montalais lowered her voice. "Between ourselves," she
said, "I think that madame and the king 'have come to an
understanding about it."

"Ah! ah!" said Malicorne; "that was the only way to
manage it. But what about poor Monsieur de Guiche?"

"Oh, as for him, he is completely turned off."

"Have they been writing to each other?"

"No, certainly not; I have not seen a pen in either of
their hands for the last week."

"On what terms are you with madame?"

"The very best,"

"And with the king?"

"The king always smiles at me whenever I pass him.'"

"Good! Now tell me whom have the two lovers selected
to serve for their screen?"

"La Valliere."

"Oh, oh, poor girl! We must prevent that."

"Why?"

"Because, if Monsieur Eaoul de Bragelonne were to sus-
pect it, he would either kill her or kill himself."

"Eaoul, poor fellow! do you think so?"

"Women pretend to have a knowledge of the state of
people's affections," said Malicorne, "and they do not even
know how to read the thoughts of their own minds and
hearts. Well, I can tell you that Monsieur de Bragelonne'
loves La Valliere to such a degree that, if she pretended to
deceive him, he would, I repeat, either kill himself or kill
her."

"But the king is there to defend her," said Montalais.

"The king!" exclaimed Malicorne; "Eaoul would kill
the king as he would a common thief."

"Good heavens!" said Montalais; "you are mad. Mon-
sieur Malicorne."

"Not in the least. Everything I have told you is, on the
contrary, perfectly serious; and, for my own part, I know
one thing."

TEN" TEARS LATER. 359

"What is that?"

"That I shall quietly tell Eaoul of the trick."

"Hush!" said Montalais, ascending another round of the
ladder, so as to approach Malicorne more closely; "do not
open your lips to poor Eaoul."

"Why not?"

"Because as yet you know nothing at all."

"What is the matter, then?"

"Why, this evening — but no one is listening, I hope?"

"No."

"This evening, then, beneath the royal oak. La Yalliere
said aloud, and innocently enough, 'I cannot conceive that
when one has once seen the king, one can ever love another
man.' "

Malicorne almost jumped ofE the wall. "Unhappy girl!
did she really say that?"

"Word for word."

"And she thinks so?"

"La Valliere always thinks what she says."

"That positively cries aloud for vengeance. Why, women
are the veriest serpents," said Malicorne.

"Compose yourself, my dear Malicorne, compose your-
self."

"No, no; let us take the evil in time, on the contrary.
There is time enough yet to tell Eaoul of it."

"Blunderer, on the contrary, it is too late," replied Mon-
talais.

"How so?"

"La Valliere's remark, which was intended for the king,
reached its destination."

"The king knows it, then? The king was told of it, I
suppose?"

"The king heard it."

^^Oliime! as the cardinal used to say."

"The king was hidden in the thicket close to the royal
oak."

"It follows, then," said Malicorne, "that for the future,
the plan which the king and madame have arranged will go
as easily as if it were on wheels, and will pass over poor
Bragelonne's body."

"Precisely so."

"Well," said Malicorne, after a moment's reflection, "do
not let us interpose our poor selves between a large oak-tree
and a great king, for we should certainly be ground to
pieces."

360 TEN YEARS LATER.

"The very thing I was going to say to you."

"Let us think of ourselves, then."

"My own idea."

"Open your beautiful eyes, then."

"And you your large ears."

"Approach your little mouth for a kiss."

"Here," said Montalais, who paid the debt immediately
in ringing coin.

"Now, let us consider. First, we have Monsieur de
Guiche, who is in love with madame; then. La Valliere,
who is in love with the king; next, the king, who is in love
both with madame and La Valliere; lastly. Monsieur, who
loves no one but himself. Among all these loves, a noodle
would make his fortune; a greater reason, therefore, for
sensible people like ourselves to do so."

"There you are with your dreams again."

"Nay, rather, with realities. Let me lead you, darling.
I do not think you have been very badly ofE hitherto."

"No."

"Well, the future is guaranteed by the past. Only since
all here think of themselves before anything else, let us do
so too."

"Perfectly right."

"But of ourselves only."

"Be it so."

"An offensive and defensive alliance."

"I am ready to swear to it."

"Pat out your hand then, and say, 'All for Malicorne.' "

"Allfor Malicorne."

"And I, 'All for Montalais,' " replied Malicorne, stretch-
ing out his hand in his turn.

"And now, what is to be done?"

"Keep your eyes and ears constantly open; collect every
means of attack which may be serviceable against others;
never let anything lie about which can be used against
ourselves."

"Agreed."

"Decided."

"Sworn to. And, now the agreement is entered into,
good-by."

"What do you mean by 'good-by'?"

"Of course you can now return to your inn."

"To my inn?"

"Yes; are you not lodging at the sign of the Beau Paon?"

"Montalais, Montalais, you now see that you were aware
of my being at Fontainebleau."

TEN TEARS LATER. 361

"Well; and what does that prove, except that I occupied
myself about you more than you deserve?"

"Hum!"

"Go back, then, to the Beau Paon."

"That is now quite out of the question."

"Have you not a room there?"

"I had, but have it no longer."

"Who has taken it from you, then?"

"I will tell yon. Some little time ago I was returning
there, after I hiul been running about after you; and hav-
ing reached my hotel quite out of breath, I perceived a
litter, upon which four peasants were carrying a sick monk."

"A monk?"

"Yes; an old gray-bearded Franciscan. As I was looking
at the monk they entered the hotel; and as they were
carrying him up the staircase, I followed, and as I reached
the top of the staircase I observed that they took him into
my room."

"Into your room?"

"Yes, into my own apartment. Supposing it to be amis-
take, I summoned the landlord, who said that the room
which had been let to me for the past eight days was let to
the Franciscan for the ninth."

"Oh! oh!"

"That was exactly what I said; nay, I did even more, for
I was inclined to get out of temper. I went upstairs again.
I spoke to the Franciscan himself, and wished to prove to
him the impropriety of the step; when this monk, dying
though he seemed to be, raised himself upon his arm, fixed
a pair of blazing eyes upon me, and, in a voice which was
admirably suited for commanding a charge of cavalry, said,
'Turn this fellow out-of-doors;' which was done imme-
diately by the landlord and the four porters, who made me
descend the staircase somewhat faster than was agreeable.
This is how it happens, dearest, that I have no lodging."

"Who can this Franciscan be?" said Montalais. "Is he
a general?"

"That is exactly the very title that one of the bearers of
the litter gave him as he spoke to him in a low tone."

"So that — " said Montalais.

"So that I have no room,